Didn't Know I Needed You
by smokeringsintx
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a single father who has fled a troubled past to New York where he works to try and raise his son, Pietro. When Pietro starts to cause trouble at school, Erik is contacted by the school's guidance counselor, Charles Xavier. Perhaps together they can help Pietro through a rough patch in his life. While doing so they might just help each other. Cherik AU set in 1996
1. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 1

Erik startled at the insistent tap to his shoulder. He nearly dropped the jackhammer held between his hands. It would have toppled over onto the freshly-cut cement sidewalk that he was gouging with the machine's business end, if he had not managed to catch it.

He needed to dig down through several layers of concrete, rock and other more earthen materials to reach a certain part of the main water line, and his overseer had told him that it had to be done before lunch. If he had not been halted, he might have made his way past the final obstacle to his goal: the loose soil beneath harder, more unforgiving layers. Once that had been reached, he could have grabbed a shovel and made short work of finding the pipe that supposedly lay underneath. Distracted as he was, it was a wonder that he did not puncture through entirely and cause more damage than what was already there. A slip up like that could have cost him a good portion of his paycheck in fines. They had told him that there was a leak in the copper plumbing that ran this way, and they had pinpointed its approximate whereabouts and left a handy orange flag fluttering above it. All that Erik had to do was dig, and hope that he didn't negatively affect the problem.

Annoyed at having been interrupted, he yanked out one of his ear plugs and lifted both brows behind his protective goggles in an angry way at the office girl who had tapped him. She was almost brand new, young and pretty and impressionable. Her name escaped him. It was something like Sharon or Shannon, he thought, not truly invested in the effort it took to recall the name of some inconsequential someone. Noting how she shrank from his furious expression, Erik softened it to one of exasperation and relaxed his body language into a stature that was less threatening. There was still a trace of ire to his tone, though he attempted to reign it in to a mild, "Yes?"

"Call for you."

Sighing, Erik propped the jackhammer against a nearby concrete divider for the main road that would run out front of the would-be gas station. He waited until the girl had scurried off and he was relatively certain that no one was looking. His fellow workers were each occupied with their own tasks, and they were not likely to look over and notice what could be taken for a man in momentary meditation. Erik concentrated on the earth underneath his feet, his pale blue-green eyes sliding closed; he could use his magnetic mutation without alerting other people that he was doing it, for the 'fingers' of his gift were invisible to the naked eye. Down those fingers traveled past any and all barriers, be they man made or natural, until he could _taste_ the copper of the thick water piping. It had a flavor not unlike blood mixed with clean water and traces of dirt.

Within seconds he could feel where the pipe had been compromised, likely by a mild earthquake. Before now he had told himself that he would mend the pipe without the benefit of his ferrokinesis, not out of some misplaced sense of propriety and not because it was 'cheating,' in a way... More, he had experienced what it was to suffer the suspicion of those who were suspicious of issues having been solved too easily. The views on mutants in this country were as prejudiced overall as they were in the rest of the world. When he allowed his gift to overtake him, he forgot about all else in his surroundings-about the chill on the breeze that kissed sweat lining his arms, about the possibility of social and political complications related to his hidden abilities. He could become one with the metal. It could be made to do his bidding as easily as another man might command a dog to sit or stay or fetch. He willed the break in the pipe to close, to pull together like the flesh on either side of a wound, and he could feel it when it _healed_. There would be no further need for anyone to dig down into this spot, he made sure of it.

He hated contract work, but there was a gas station to be built and he had licenses enough to qualify him in nearly every facet of the construction jobs required for such an endeavor. This meant that no matter what needed to be done on the job, it was likely that he could do it and be counted upon to do it right. And it kept him out of the blacksmith forges and steel mills and factories that ruined his eyes and made his head ache for days after every shift. He actually quite liked forging metallic items, was fascinated by the chemical elements involved in the process, and his unique 'skillset' with that sort of thing meant that he had a particular talent with the materials. It was the presence of toxic smoke that choked those atmospheres which made it nearly insufferable and made working out of doors much preferred. Rarely was he put in a position where he could discreetly use his ferrokinetic abilities to make simple a given task without alerting the attention of every intrusive brown-nose within sight; that didn't matter so much, though. He often didn't need to introduce his mutation in order to finish a job. The physicality of his work intrigued him. He liked to keep his hands busy, and he liked to build things. It was when other people got in his way that the allure was tarnished by their incessant presence.

The dust and pebbles that had accumulated upon the faded black tee shirt and blue jeans that Lehnsherr was wearing followed him as he walked toward a small, single-wide trailer home reserved for the human resources aspects of the current job. The inside of it always smelled like burnt coffee and caulking no matter where they parked the thing. When Erik entered, the floor was already littered with various debris from other workers who had trampled in before him, so he wasn't overly concerned with brushing his own collection of filth off. Though he was mildly curious about who would be calling him at work, he was none too pleased to be faced with even a small delay in his assigned tasks for the day. It wouldn't bode well for his reputation on the site. He had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew what the impromptu summoning was all about.

The moment he picked up the idling call and barked a curt greeting, Erik could tell that he was doomed to lose what little time clocked in that he might have had remaining in his shift. Pietro was in trouble again. Whether or not it was common for a nine-year-old kid to cause as much mischief as his son did on a weekly, and sometimes daily, basis, Erik didn't know. His own childhood was certainly rife with a similar level of clashes against whatever authority figure had deigned to put him or herself in his way back then. What he did know was that his only child's rebellious streak had something to do with Pietro's mother having decided that she no longer wanted to participate in his life.

She had never been much for commitment. In the beginning of their painfully brief relationship, Erik had found that quality attractive about her. She was free-spirited and aloof and had not a care in the world to weigh her down, so different from every other German woman (or man) that Erik had ever become romantically involved with. Different as well from Erik, whose demeanor could accurately be described as 'prickly' and 'too-serious.' Those descriptions only tended to come from people who wished to remain polite about it. More than once, Magda had used words like 'icy bastard' and 'reptile' to describe her former fiancee. That was back when she still spoke to him, or their son, at all.

Rubbing his dirt-lined features with an equally unclean hand, he listened to the receptionist for the school principal as she went through the motions of informing him that Pietro had been in (another) fight, and that _Mister Lehnsherr's_ presence was required at the soonest possible time to have a word with their guidance counselor, one Mister Xavier. Erik sighed again. He told the woman that yes, he would come and speak with the man about his son. It was only a matter of time before they asked him to do so, he knew. Several notes written on ominous yellow papers had accompanied Pietro home from school in the last couple of weeks, urging his father to 'have a talk with him.'

This Mister Xavier and Erik had not yet met, but Erik almost felt as though they had, considering the vast number of written correspondences that they had exchanged. This latest fight seemed to have tipped the balance over from the school tolerating Pietro's behavior to their becoming fed up with it and quietly demanding an explanation for it in person from the troublemaker's main role model. The receptionist assured him that Pietro was not seriously injured, but that Erik's presence was requested all the same.

He smacked the receiver back down on its cradle hard enough to make the young woman seated at the desk on which it was perched flinch. It was going to be one of those days. He squared away his boss, telling him that he had no choice but to tend to family matters, and was a little surprised when the old man agreed that such issues were more important than work. For now. If it became a habit, they would no doubt have a very different conversation. Erik clocked out and climbed into his truck a few moments later, already tired despite the still relatively early hour of the day. He would not bother to go home and change or shower; if they wanted to pester him at his place of work, then they could damn well deal with a bit of dust on their floors.


	2. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 2

Charles was starving. His breakfast that morning had consisted of nothing more than a cracker half covered in peanut butter. He had failed to set his alarm the night before, resulting in his dressing and readying himself for work at a speed normally reserved for mongooses waging battle against cobras. Neither Principle Frost nor any of her fellow members of management at the Littleleaf ISD in Northfield, New York would have been impressed had their newest guidance counselor shown up tardy during his first school year with them. He didn't know what had happened with his alarm - he'd never forgotten to set it before - but he _did_ know that skipping lunch was going to cause his mood to deteriorate rather quickly.

None of this internal anguish was demonstrated outwardly for the only other inhabitant of his private office, of course. Across Charles' desk from him, slumped down in one of the chairs reserved for his guests and for the students with which he had sessions, was one Pietro Lehnsherr. A curious name for an even more unique young man. He had stubbornly deflected any and all of Charles' attempts to converse with him while they awaited the arrival of the boy's father, Mr. Lehnsherr. As such, they were now bridged within a kind of pregnant silence. It was not the way that Charles liked to conduct his sessions, but he had little choice in the matter-the child was unbelievably stubborn and resistant to any and all attempts at getting to know him or engaging in even the most neutral of small talk.

There were reasons for this solemnity. Inside the boy's head they would flash now and then when he let his thoughts wander in his anger to subjects such as his parents and the other children in the school. For an individual with an enhanced ability to 'read' people as the one that Charles happened to possess, fishing out the tidbits of information one at a time and gaining a better understanding of why his young subject was the way that he was posed no issue. He could not in good conscience exploit his telepathic power to the extent that he invaded the furthest depths of a person's privacy, yet he could skim. He could shave off the details that were relevant and try his damnedest to make good use of them.

So far, it was not working. He felt for the kid. What had ended Pietro up in his office today was not Pietro's own fault. Not solely, anyway. He was ambushed by other boys intent on roughing him up for no other reason than that he was different. In the last few weeks, Pietro's hair had begun to shift in color from the rusty red-brown that it had been before to a far more pale gray shade. Charles knew that it likely had to do with the fact that he possessed a gene which caused early graying. Very early, in this case. Knowing that little fact would not help anyone.

It was Xavier who had happened to pass down the very corridor where the so-called fight had occurred. One could not call it a true fight, really, not when it was four older boys ganging up upon a single victim. Pietro had held his own admirably well before his guidance counselor pulled his attackers off of him and helped him to his feet. Still, he had walked away from it with a black eye and a cut lip, and more anger boiling within him than Charles had ever sensed in a child before. It was obviously not the first time that something like this had occurred.

"Are you certain that I can't get you something to drink, Pietro? I think I might have a can of pop squirreled away in here somewhere..." Charles offered his most winning smile and he was not surprised when it was utterly ignored by the surly youngster.

"No, thank you." The boy had his pale eyes fixed on a point of the floor to the left of the desk that sat between them. His face had stopped bleeding some time ago, a stained tissue clutched between his fingers from when he had wiped the blood away. His features were already beginning to darken across one side from eyelid to lip and it looked rather painful. Were there not rules against giving the children painkillers without the express permission from parents, he might have benefited from a baby aspirin.

"Very well. Your father is on his way." It was perhaps the fifth time that Charles had assured Pietro that they would soon be joined by the elder Lehnsherr. He knew that saying it aloud would not make it happen any faster, and that Pietro did not want to talk to him at all, so he left him alone for now. He had already tried every trick and technique that he had learned in medical school for prying an unwilling patient out of his or her shell, and he had been met with stony and unwavering silence.

The door to Charles' office opened mere moments later, no knock to announce the presence of a second visitor. Startled, the guidance counselor began to push himself unsteadily to his feet in order to offer a greeting to the man - it must have been Mr. Lehnsherr - but once again he was studiously ignored. In a few seconds he took in the sight of Lehnsherr, clothing unkempt and smeared with what might have been mud, and he deduced that the man had just come from a job where he worked in labor. In any case, he _hoped_ that was why filth was being tracked across his office floor and not because man and boy were homeless. Pietro was far better clothed and far more clean, up until his skirmish with the other children had ruffled his feathers. Charles was tempted to use his ability in order to find out the truth of the matter. "Mister Lehnsherr, I presume. Hello, I'm Ch-"

Erik behaved as if there was nothing and no one else in the room that he was interested in save for the boy huddled in the chair in front of Xavier's desk. He crossed to him in three long strides and gently took Pietro's chin between his thumb and fingers, lifting his battered face up to where it could be clearly seen. He turned it right and then left, slowly, the better to absorb every detail of the injuries. "Was ist passiert?"

"Nichts." In the time that had passed between his being pummeled by a gaggle of shouting bullies and that moment, Pietro had not shed a single tear nor so much as whimpered. Now that he had the sharp eyes of his concerned father trained on him, his broken lip trembled and his voice began to quaver. He wanted to finally break down and cry out his pain and embarrassment, but he refused to do it in front of Mr. Xavier. Instead he turned his face out of Erik's grasp and hugged himself, sinking even further into the chair as though he wanted it to swallow him whole.

Charles was fascinated. In the weeks that he had known and worked with Pietro, not even a hint of a German accent had he heard during their chats, and yet here Pietro was speaking it with his father. Due to Charles' personal, self-imposed rules against invading the minds of anyone be they a patient or not, he had not sought to delve too deeply into the young student's past or sniff out any more than the information he required that was rooted in the present. Something about the way that father and child interacted set off red flags within him. He was suddenly concerned that the violent behaviour inflicted upon Pietro was not exclusive to his time at school. To make sure that this Erik (he could not help but to find that name floating on the surface of Lehnsherr's rather angry thoughts) did not beat his son, Charles decided to break his own self-imposed rule and dive a little bit deeper into his mind.

 _Mutant_. Erik Lehnsherr had an enhanced ability, and a considerably powerful one. The knowledge struck Charles like a blow to his stomach and left him flabbergasted momentarily. Of course, he knew that other people with exceptional gifts existed in the world. Often he could easily pick out their bright minds amongst a given crowd of people and know immediately that they were different. Special. Gifted. Something about their minds always shined a little brighter than those of people who did not possess enhancements. Now he was being faced with one...or perhaps two...such people in his very own personal work space. He wanted to know more, but it felt wrong to pry too far. When the subject of his inner questing looked directly at him and he was fixed with a pair of ice-colored eyes that were identical to Pietro's, he was startled for the third time.

"And where were you?" Lehnsherr _did_ possess a faint German lilt to his words unlike Pietro. He also had a great deal of rage and aggression pent up within him, bubbling to the surface in his body language and the rigidity of the unwavering stare that he was stabbing into the only other adult in the room.

Charles blinked, more than a little affronted. Here this man had waltzed practically unannounced into his private office and now he was making insinuations about whether a teacher had bothered to give protection to a student. During his search of Erik's mind, he had reassured himself that Pietro was not the victim of domestic abuse and that there was in fact a very powerful and profound swell of devotion hidden down beneath those spiked shields of fury that were employed by Erik Lehnsherr as defense mechanisms. Knowing this took the edge off of Charles' own irritation. A little. He tugged at the end of his blue cardigan to straighten it and stood a little taller, unafraid in the face of the other man's death glare. He chose to ignore the thinly veiled accusation. "Mister Lehnsherr. Pietro's home room teacher and I have been sending notes home with him for some time now, in an attempt to converse with you about certain...issues that he has been having."

"I am beginning to see more than a few issues here." Erik's hackles raised as he perceived an insult directed at his son, or at himself. The amount of pride within the man was incredible. It was easy, too, to see where Pietro had gained his temper.

"He's all right, Dad." The child in question spoke up in defense of Xavier in a voice bereft of the tremor it had held before. "He stopped them. The other guys. It's not his fault."

Some of the venom was drained from Erik when he looked down at Pietro. He took what he was being told to heart in a way that he never would have done, had it been Charles who had told it to him. Reaching out, he ruffled fair auburn hair flecked with silver away from a pale, furrowed young forehead. After days of begging he had agreed to help Pietro dye his hair so that he would better fit in with the other children. It had hurt Erik to do it - it had felt like he was drowning out what made his boy extra ordinary. What made him Pietro. But he understood. Now the dye was bleeding out and the ravenous masses were using his unique son as a punching bag again. Erik's voice was monumentally more gentle when he spoke to the boy than it had been with Charles up until this point.

"Go out into the corridor and wait, ja? I'll be out in a moment." He watched Pietro go and then looked at Charles hard from under heavy brows, his expression strange. It was the face of a person who was trying to decide whether or not a creature standing in front of him was a threat.

"Let me start again." To diffuse some of that dubiety, Charles stepped around his desk and offered his hand to shake. He smiled brilliantly. "My name is Charles Xavier. I have spoken with your son's teacher, and with Pietro. I believe he is having a hard time of it. The other children..." He had to be careful here. Saying out loud that the other students were being insensitive beasts would not sound good at all. He licked thoughtfully at his lips. "They're not allowing him a chance to work through whatever it is that's bothering him. I contacted you in the hopes that you might have an idea what it could be, so that I might better be capable of helping him."

Up close, he was a bit struck by the scent of Erik; it was a thick mixture of mechanical oil and cement dust. Underneath that was a cleaner scent, a strong yet cheap soap of some kind. It was not the most pleasant combination. He found the definitive shape of the man's face far more appealing, with its rust-like stubble and those arresting, almost colourless eyes. His nearly bare arms offered another agreeable view that might have been more than a little distracting, were Charles a weaker man. But he was not a weak man, and the power of Erik's physical presence was beside the point entirely.

"There is nothing wrong with him," said Erik flatly. He looked ready to become defensive again. He had taken the shorter man's hand for barely a second to squeeze it in a firm, tense grip and shake it before giving it back. Now he seemed to regret having done it.

Charles resisted the urge to wipe the dirt from his palm on the side of his own gray trousers. "Of course not. I didn't say that there was. But we all... Well, everyone goes through rough patches, don't they? _If_ Pietro is going through a rough patch - and I'm not saying that he is - I should like to help him. With your permission, I would let him talk to me now and then. Let's say, once a week. It would go a long way toward helping me to prevent his suspension for unruly behavior."

"He can talk to me..." Words like _suspension_ and _expulsion_ had reached Erik from these people before now via letters sent home after a fight like the one that had brought him to the school this very day. They felt like threats. Hearing it again made him feel somewhat cornered and he was not happy about that, but it was true that Pietro had not exactly been forthcoming in what was going on in his head. They were too much alike that way - the two Lehnsherrs, both tight-lipped and stubborn to the end. He was beginning to come around just a little bit to the idea of what was being proposed, Charles could feel it.

"Yes, of course. You're a busy man, though." From the rather barbed mind of the tall man in front of him, Charles had discovered a great deal during his very brief telepathic searching. It would seem that Erik worked exceedingly hard to support his son. And he worried about him, deeply. It was touching. These facts coupled with the fact that they might very well be mutants in hiding - just as Xavier was - made Charles all the more determined to do what he could to help them. "Another pair of ears could not hurt, could it?"

For a few painfully long minutes, Erik chewed on all that had been said. Fatigue warred with anger and exasperation until he was prompted to lift his hand and rub at his own upper eyelids. When his eyes opened once more they were slightly bloodshot. He seemed to have come to a decision. "I will think about it." With that, he turned on a dusty heel and left.

Charles exhaled two lungfuls of air through pursed lips and puffed-out cheeks once he was alone again. He made a face at the smear of something or other that had been left across his hand after the shake with Lehnsherr, and moved toward the dispenser of hand sanitizer that was a complimentary feature of nearly every room in the building. It was a start, he mused as he mentally went over the entire conversation that had just transpired. A mutant filled with fury and his wayward son. Charles had always been a sucker for the tragic cases in need of his help and now was no different. First, however, he would see about scaring up a late lunch.


	3. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 3

The ride between Littleleaf and home for the Lehnsherrs was not usually so long. Tension has a way of extending discomfort. A silence that could have been companionable was twisted into something restive, unpleasant. Neither father nor son wanted to broach the subject that lay heavily between them like the corpse of the proverbial elephant in the room. To do so would be to admit that something was wrong, and for Erik at least, this was touchy business.

The whole reason that he had uprooted the two of them from Germany and fled to America was that a certain darkness had hung over their lives. He didn't want it to determine Pietro's whole future, didn't want the boy to endure the same suffering that Erik himself had tasted throughout his childhood. Now here they sat, each refusing to acknowledge that a certain portion of that darkness had discreetly followed them; or perhaps it was that they had formulated a brand new nightmare, more subtle than the one in the Fatherland yet no less detrimental to their combined happiness.

It had been six years since the biggest move of their lives. In that time, Pietro had been given the chance to find his own identity in America. He was quick and witty and intelligent when he was not stewing on a bad mood as he always seemed to be these days. His accent had dissolved early on, allowing him to better fit in with his peers. It wasn't until they shifted from one side of New York to the other for better opportunities at work for Erik that the newest legion of problems began to occur. The move itself didn't seem to negatively affect Pietro so much as the resulting loss of friends and the change in scenery. Shortly after their arrival in Northfield, his mother cut ties with them for the last time and the 'early graying' of Pietro's hair had begun. He seemed to blame his father for all of these things, as if Erik had intentionally caused them both a level of suffering that he could not possibly have predicted.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Erik turned off the simple radio that had come with his dusty, aged Toyota truck. He had managed to buy it for a good deal due to the handful of 'minor mechanical problems' it was reported to have suffered from. Those little issues had turned out to be far bigger and more expensive than he was previously led to believe, but it was still better than buying American-made, in his opinion. He looked across the worn seats at his son, who had curled up in a way similar to the way in which Erik had found him at the school.

Pietro shrugged, noncommittal. When he could feel his father's eyes returning to him again and again and it was made obvious that more of a reply would be required, he sighed and slid his feet toward the floor of the passenger side. "Nothing. Just some dumb guys being dumb."

Responses like this were becoming more and more commonplace over the last few months. They represented an inherent stubbornness to open up or show emotion that Erik knew all too intimately for they reflected how he often behaved when questioned. He had never realized just how frustrating it was to deal with before being subjected to it by his own offspring. He loved Pietro with every fiber of his being, but he had never been good at this sort of thing. This _talking_. Even small chit chat felt forced and uncomfortable between them lately. He hated it - hated this inexplicable rift - and wasn't entirely sure how to remedy it. There really was something wrong with Pietro and Erik really was useless when it came to prying it free of him. "Dumb guys being dumb," he parroted.

"Look, it's nothing, okay? I can handle it." At times, Pietro looked very much like his mother. Most often it was when he was being silly or playful. He used to dance around their previous home while singing some insufferable childish song that he played on his boom box again and again and _again_ until Erik was prepared to destroy the thing in secret just so that he would not have to listen to it anymore. Since their latest move - nearly a year ago now - this side of the younger Lehnsherr was painfully absent. He was quiet and reserved and bitter, nothing like Magda had been and nothing like the Pietro that Erik knew and loved, either. He was more the spitting image of his father now than ever before. What Erik wouldn't have given to hear that cursed song again, just so he could see the boy smile and be goofy as he once was.

"I am just trying to understand-"

"There's nothing to understand! Just...stop it!" Pietro's shout seemed to surprise both of them and he deflated somewhat afterward, sinking down underneath his seat belt.

Erik had stopped at a red light and it gave him enough time to fix the nine year old child with a hard stare. Many adult people had blanched and shied away from such a look, as he had been told that he could be quite intimidating. In this instance it was toned down somewhat, merely a wordless expression that Pietro had better lower his voice and correct his tone. After all, he was already in trouble. At least, he would be until it was established that the fight had not been his fault. Since he refused to tell Erik what had happened it left no choice but to assume that the blame was equal all around with everyone involved.

Of course, Erik didn't really believe that. He was naturally biased toward siding with Pietro and he knew full well how cruel the other children had been from the start of the change in his hair. It was not often that a very young boy was seen to have salt and pepper locks, and the fact that he was still a relatively new student made it worse. People of narrow minds did not comprehend it and human beings were infamously predisposed toward violence when it came to things that they did not comprehend. It made Erik extremely angry to think that these... _lesser evolved_ cretins were displaying their neanderthal-like disregard for the different and the singular attributes of his only son by attacking him, and he felt helpless to do anything about it. The teachers, and now guidance counselor, for the school had been contacted. Certain measures had been put into place in the attempt to prevent further incidents, and yet they were still occurring. In fact, if Pietro's battered face was any indicator...they were getting worse. His hair color was a very large factor in why he was constantly so angry, but Erik felt as though that was not all of it. That was not what caused Pietro to start just as many fights with the other children as they did with him.

They rode under a veil of silence even thicker than it had been at the start of the journey home. All around them the inner city was showing its autumn colors. Hues of orange and brown and maroon dusted the outside of quaint little homes that they passed just as much as it did the trees standing between them. Here in Northfield they were far enough from the large cities to avoid the better part of the insufferable tourist attractions, while close enough to have access to decent schools and work places. It was a happy medium between the two extremes that Erik had hoped would be good for Pietro.

He had been careful to keep attention away from them, away from his own mutation, and situate their life well below the radar of the masses. Being forced to hide certain things was already difficult for a small boy and now that the divergences between his genes and those of other children were becoming more visually apparent, it was even harder. Erik often wondered whether these physical shifts were due to an early onset of Pietro's own mutation, but as of yet there had been no further sign of any distinction beyond a more pale hairstyle. If there _were_ any other changes, he doubted that Pietro would willingly tell him about it.

"You can talk to me, you know." He elected to use English when they conversed, because it seemed to be the language that the younger Lehnsherr was most comfortable using. Speaking German had always made Pietro even more distant and aloof, somehow. As of late it didn't matter what dialect was used; nothing save for the most basic single-syllable grunts of acknowledgement would be shot back in Erik's general direction whenever they spoke to each other. Such was the case now as well. Barely more than a vague noise drifted across the cab before Pietro reached out to turn the radio back up. It was his way of passive-aggressively ending their conversation, or lack thereof.

Erik sighed and let it go. He knew that, in the child's eyes, he was the reason that Magda had disappeared from their lives for good. Despite all of the woman's faults she had managed to make Pietro love her desperately before she up and left. In some ways it _was_ Erik's fault. He should have known better than to allow a person such as she to get close to their son, to enamor herself with him and make him believe that she loved him when of course she had only ever cared about herself. Now that there was irrefutable proof of this callousness, Pietro didn't want to believe it. It was easier for him to accept that his father was making Magda stay away out of some cruel intention. The whole thing was only exacerbated by their moving. He wasn't entirely certain how to make things right without becoming forceful and potentially causing Pietro to retreat even further into himself. He didn't even know where to begin; delicate, emotional troubles had never been his forte.

 _Perhaps Mr. Xavier will have better luck._

Even the thought of allowing a stranger to worm his way into Pietro's psyche rubbed Erik the wrong way, made his natural protective instincts fire up. He didn't want anyone meddling with his son. If it didn't work, it ran the very same risk of ruining Pietro that Lehnsherr himself was worried about, and if it _did_ work... Well, that would mean that some random English-American was better suited to talk to the boy than his own father was. To admit that would be difficult, to say the least, for a man whose sense of pride was second only to his familial devotion.

So odd, that a person who appeared to be English in origin was employed in a middle-class town as a guidance counselor in a school for the children of working-class men and women. What had brought him here? What made him think that he had the right even to presume to ingratiate himself with Pietro? Erik wanted to dislike him. Instead, he had found himself disarmed by the man's affable nature and the way that he was utterly unaffected by the naturally rough treatment that Erik had inflicted upon him with his accusations. His eyes had been an almost unearthly shade of blue, Erik recalled. Very bright. They held his reflection like a thing worth holding, but they also seemed to encompass the nature of a man who genuinely wanted to help Pietro. It had felt so...honest. So easy to believe that he really cared where the other members of staff at the school were ready to wash their hands of Pietro entirely. It left much to think about.


	4. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 4

The television in the staff break room was tuned to the news when Charles arrived at work. He smiled at the two other people already inside and crossed to the refreshments counter on the far end of the too-brightly-lit room. As usual the chipped white surface of the serving counter was littered already with powder from artificial sweeteners and curled up foil lids from single-serving cups of hazelnut and Irish cream coffee creamer. He discreetly swept it aside to afford himself an area for preparing his own cup. It was always a risk to subject one's self to the mysterious black liquid left to burn on its hot plate here, which could more often pass for fragrant roofing tar than it could any kind of beverage. Charles was not fond of the often toxic atmospheres of coffee and tea shops this early in the day, when they were filled to bursting with business types ready to jump down the throat of some innocent young barista who had given them whole milk instead of 2%. Since his brewer at home had given out on him, the questionable fodder at work was his only alternative.

Behind him he could hear on the television details being given in a report about a young man, a young _mutant_ , who was apprehended late the previous day on suspicion that he had started a fire in a fast food restaurant just outside of Northfield. When he heard the word mutant, Charles dropped the tiny straw that he was using to stir sugar into his drink and very nearly spilled the whole thing. He tried to play it off as clumsiness due to the ungodly hour. Like most teachers, he had a need for caffeine in order to have sufficient motor function skills. That was not what had made him fumble, though; in reality, he was always taken off guard when the subject of what could be considered _his people_ was brought up in a public setting.

"All right, Charles?" Moira MacTaggert taught fourth grade math and she had been one of the few people to immediately warm up to their new, foreign guidance counselor. Her tone radiated amusement as she bought the image that Charles was selling; she assumed he was half asleep standing up. Neither she nor anyone else on staff knew that he was a mutant. At one time, she had asked Charles out on a date and she took it rather well when he gently told her that he was gay. They had struck up a friendship that had lasted beyond the awkwardness of that ungraceful moment.

Charles flashed her a smile. "I'm all thumbs this morning. What's that they're on about?" He pointed at the TV with his chin as he salvaged what was left of his coffee.

"Some kid blew up at a Lotzo Burger. Literally." MacTaggert's dark eyes returned to the screen and she continued to leave smears of maroon lipstick on the edge of her coffee mug as she sipped it. On the mug's side were the words _I'm always right_ hovering over a 90 degree angle and it quite suited her rather dryly sarcastic personality. "Can you imagine? They said that flames were just bursting out of his chest."

"That sounds horrifying," mumbled Charles, thinking that the young man must have been frightened to be the source of what appeared to have become an uncontrollable fire. Whether or not the perpetrator in question had survived unscathed was not mentioned in the report. No one else had been injured, the Englishman noted. The same images of disgruntled customers, fire engines and yellow police tape were looped across the screen over and over as castors speculated on whether the 'atrocity' could have been prevented.

Their resident self-prescribed expert on the more physical side of the educational spectrum was Coach Worthington. Never one to pass up an opportunity to voice his opinion on anything, and certainly not when the subject matter being discussed was related to the 'mutant problem,' he soon piped up from the table that he had commandeered nearest to the microwave oven. "They're all dangerous! The mutation... It messes with their brains, y'know. Reroutes the synapses and the electrical doodads up there." He tapped one of his own graying temples, just in case his captive audience was unaware of the general location of these _electrical doodads_. If the reach of his voice were not sufficient to corner the attention of every unwilling ear in the room, the blazingly loud shade of orange that he had chosen for his track suit would have done the job. It was a color not unlike that which is found on reflective traffic cones. It seemed to warn of the tedium and rather low IQ of the man beneath it, which was detrimental to every otherwise accepting and open-minded atmosphere that Worthington inhabited. "Soon as they start showing symptoms, it's too late. Just like rabies."

"Fascinating." The smile that Charles gave Worthington was more of a pained grimace. He shared a look with Moira that said _here we go again_ , and they both wordlessly decided that they were very, very late for their morning tasks. Within moments both he and she had scurried free of the break room and the lecture about mild forms of eugenics that was sure to come via the Phys Ed teacher. They said their fond farewells and then it was all to business.

Charles had made it his mission to show up early as much as possible so that he could organize paperwork and initiate a calm, relaxed atmosphere within his office well before any of the students or anyone else deigned to visit. Popping in to the break room to see how others on staff were faring gave him a chance to peek discreetly into the outskirts of their emotional states and discover which of them might be having a hard time of it. This way, he could offer his services and further solidify his status as a productive member of the institution. Doing so this morning had gained him little more than an unflattering insight into the mental processes of a man whose conservative views on mutants turned Charles' stomach. Rabies, indeed.

It was manipulative, perhaps, to pry information from the unaware minds of his coworkers. That fact was not lost on Charles, and he was not overly fond of having to utilize his gift in order to make friends. When he had first arrived in New York and, by extension, had first begun working at Littleleaf, there seemed to be a general belief that he was there to remind the American citizens already employed that theirs was a country where education was not as much of an esteemed priority as it was elsewhere in the world. They had looked at Charles Xavier as though he must have thought himself somehow better than they were simply because he happened to be English, and somewhat posh besides. To disarm the ticking time bomb of this line of unreasonable thought, he had to do what he could to change their minds. If that meant snooping a tiny bit now and then he was willing to do it. To a point.

None of them (save for perhaps Principal Frost) were aware of the repute that was synonymous with the name Xavier in England. His was a surname that held a great deal of clout in the country of his birth and as such a great deal was expected of Charles. He came from money and lots of it and it did not matter that he was not necessarily interested in becoming a benefactor of that money. It didn't matter that his interests in life revolved around the power of the mind, of how it worked both inside and out. He was fascinated by the human being's condition and its ability to grow in spite of, and in some cases because of, whatever hardship has been thrown at it throughout a person's life.

His family's money was all well and good, but after his mother died and his step father began to take over control of things, and certain demands were made of Charles in relation to how he was expected to _contribute_ , he lost interest in living beneath the shadow of his name. The only way to escape it entirely was to run from it as far as he could go. To a place where they did not know nor give a damn who Charles Xavier was. In New York and indeed in America as a whole, a man's name was only a fraction of who he was. The rest was a kind of clay that he could mold into whatever he had the strength and the know-how to mold it into.

The field of psychiatry was a somewhat cold one in his experience. His years at medical school had killed some of the romance that he had once seen in the profession. It became increasingly clear that, as a psychiatrist, he was destined to sit and listen to people with far too much money and far too little respect for their fellow man complain about factors in their lives that were more often than not irrelevant and trivial. First world problems, he had heard them called. He would time and again be expected to shoulder the neuroses of these individuals who were so much like the family members that he had fled from that it was both unsettling and unpalatable for Charles.

In the cases of institutions dedicated to those with advanced neurological disorders, he was often overwhelmed by the pain and anguish and horror within the minds of those supremely broken souls. After a mere twelve hours of internship in one of those places, he had all but run away from it and never looked back. It was simply more than he felt confident handling at this point in his life. Perhaps one day he would find the courage to return to that sector of psychiatric medicine, to do what he could to unravel the tangled webbing of consciousness more tormented than anything that the healthy could possibly conceive of.

As a guidance counselor to the children of middle-class people he was hopeful that he had found his niche, for now. Here were bright young minds full of hope and wonder. The world had not yet had the chance to break most of them, nor to unleash the fullness of its cruelty upon them. Some came from homes where they were subjected to negativity at every turn and some were disparaged even by Charles' fellow members of staff. He had even come across those who were beginning to show the glow of mutation, whether they were aware of it or not. He felt as though he was instigating a real difference in helping these children. For the first time he felt that he was making the best use of what nature had bestowed upon him. It was a very small difference, yet it carried weight. Children were the future, after all.

One of those children was scheduled to meet with him this afternoon just before the end of classes, and he intended to do everything within his power to make their interaction as smooth and unthreatening as possible. It was two days now since Charles' meeting with the Lehnsherrs and the elder of the two had given consent for Pietro to be seen as a kind of patient. It was different from what could be gained in an official psychologist's office in that the rules were less strict and the techniques less invasive. Charles was here to listen and to offer tidbits of guidance, as his title suggested. His responsibility was to all of the young souls in the school, not just to a single one no matter how intriguing his case and no matter how troubled he might be. No matter how curious Charles was about the circumstances surrounding Pietro and Erik's life, he would have to remain detached from it as much as possible.

He reminded himself of this as he fussed about his office. Outside, the arrival of the first bus load of students could be heard with their raised voices echoing off walls and their sneakers squealing on freshly-polished floors. Lockers were slammed, childish jokes were made, teachers could be heard warning against running in the halls.

Charles moved to his desk in order to work on a bit of paperwork that he had been putting off. It was for a class that he had been asked to run that was meant for 'gifted' children. Those whose intellects were deemed to be greater than that of their peers. Many of the more advanced students were known to cause disruptions in class because they were bored or resentful, as people of higher intellect tended to be no matter their age. It felt hypocritical to Charles, celebrating those with advanced academic abilities while at the same time so many people in this country were wary of, and sometimes violent against, those with arguably similar enhancements. Such as mutants. It left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but far be it from him to refuse to help children who were ostracized simply for being smart. The more than he read about what activities were expected to occur during these little group sessions, the more his thoughts ventured toward Pietro, and more specifically, toward Pietro's father.


	5. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 5

It was becoming increasingly colder in the mornings. Erik preferred to drive Pietro to school rather than trust a stranger driving a busload of the children of other strangers to transport him safely to and from Littleleaf, and due to the chill on the air he would start up his truck a few minutes in advance. By the time they climbed into the cab the frost would have hopefully melted from the windows and they would be greeted with a cozy, warm atmosphere. The scent of coffee from Erik's thermos would add another subtle layer of comfortable affectation, a familiarity that soothed them both for the potential stresses of the day ahead of them.

Not so long ago, the short journey had given father and son time to chat before one was off to classes and the other off to earn a day's wages. On Mondays in particular they both seemed to feel the need to boost each other's morale using a song that was so ridiculously off-key as to make them both laugh, or chatting about what they might do once the grind of the day had ended. As Pietro became more independent, he would choose to finish his homework whilst still in class or during the trip home, and this often freed up their late afternoons. He had always been an exceptionally sharp child, for which Erik was endlessly proud. His never asking for help with homework was not surprising, but his increasing level of silence when it came to literally every other subject was quite out of character and it served to put strain on the few interactions that the two of them did have.

Today when Erik went out to the truck, it would not start. A momentary panic ensued, during which he fiddled with the ignition and then stepped out of the vehicle to have a look under the hood. Of his considerable number of talents when it came to machinery, the know-how to diagnose and fix a manner of mechanical problem relating to a car was not one of them. Time and again he had told himself that he would make a point of learning how to work on cars, and though his many trials and tribulations with this cursed Toyota had made an unwilling apprentice of him...he was not yet experienced enough to do much more than glare at the complicated array of the truck's innards. It was not the spark plugs, nor the battery, for he had just replaced both. When it came to possibilities more advanced than those, he was stumped. He was more than a little put off as well.

Sighing, Erik slammed the hood down and stepped back into his house. It was a modest single-story, two bedroom affair. Just enough room for the two of them to exist, without any frivolities besides. Everything was kept organized and clean to standards that were usually better suited to life in a military setting rather than a domestic one. Every floor and counter was polished to a reflective shine, every piece of clothing not in use was carefully folded and put in its respective place. Toys left strewn about were quickly acknowledged and relocated to where they belonged. Dishes were washed as soon as they had served their purpose. Erik's almost obsessive cleanliness was often seen as another clear sign of his need for control in all things over which he possibly could have control. It comforted him to have a tidy living space, especially on days when his mode of transportation had decided to rebel against him once again.

He caught Pietro's eye where the boy sat at their small dining room table finishing up the last of his cereal before it was supposed to be time for him to go. The look on Erik's face, coupled with the unmistakable sound of the truck's whining death throes just outside, was apparently sufficient to tell Pietro what he needed to know. They had both been forced to deal with the temperamental behavior of their sole mode of transportation more than once in the past. This time at least they had not begun the trek to school before it had decided to keel over on them, dumping them onto the side of the road at the crack of dawn as it had certainly done before.

"I'll have to take the truck in again today." Erik threw the keys down on a nearby table. They slid too far and would have hit the floor if he did not 'catch' them with his mutation and shift them more carefully back into place. His ability was such that he could control both ferrous and non-ferrous metals. He could also harness the earth's magnetic field and ride it, if he so desired. It was not like flying or even levitating, not exactly; it was more like he was using those pulsing waves as stairs or vast hills that he could bounce over and glide upon. There were more similarities between this aspect of his mutated enhancement and pole-vaulting than there was between it and flying. He could theoretically carry Pietro to school (and he had been known to physically move the boy to and from other places in the past), but it would not be an easy thing to conceal. Discretion was more vital than punctuality, in this case. There were few things less discreet than a floating man and child.

Pietro was nonplussed, his mind working around the possibilities offered by their not having a car rather than the fantastical mutant-based alternatives. He never for a moment expected that his father would want to risk exposing himself by carting them around in the air. "I could stay home."

Erik was tempted. He reached for his now redundant thermos and sipped thoughtfully as he approached the other side of the table at which Pietro was seated and took a chair across from him. This could be their chance at spending some much-needed one-on-one time together. Looking at what amounted to a smaller version of himself, he was once again disappointed by the unfortunate shade of brown that they had dyed Pietro's hair to be only the previous day. It didn't suit him at all. It did, however, make him that much more confidant in his appearance. No matter how much Erik might dislike it, he could see the reasoning behind its necessity. It was just another way for them to hide. "Maybe," he conceded. "I could call in and we could order pizza. I think we could both use a day spent watching movies and-"

"No." Pietro set down his spoon and shook his unnaturally dark head. "I meant...like...I could stay home. Like just me."

Erik frowned. "Alone?"

"I'm not a baby. I can stay alone."

It was the elder Lehnsherr's turn to shake his head, slowly, obviously not amused by the idea being proposed. While he was fairly certain that Pietro _could_ look after himself, that was not the point. There were outside factors to consider, such as the freak occurrence of things like electrical fire or an intruder coming to take advantage of a child left without the protection of an adult, or a whole host of other theoretical situations that were, however unlikely, still possible. A single parent was often forced to find the happy medium between being over-protective and not being protective enough. Sometimes the line between the two was rather impossible to see. Erik was the type of man to defer to the former rather than the latter. He would have to admit that his near-constant state of worry caused him to try and shield Pietro from any danger that he possibly could and as such he might have been a touch overbearing. It stemmed from a part deep inside of him that remembered how close he had once come to losing Pietro forever, and from the painful knowledge that he did not have anyone else in his life over which to fret.

"Out of the question."

"Why not? I can take care of myself."

"You are nine years old. Perhaps in a few years, you may stay here on your own. For now, I don't think it is a good idea. Now, if you would like to stay here with me..."

"No... I wanna stay alone. I don't... You never let me do anything!" Pietro's outburst was expected and therefor dismissed by his father, which only made him more angry. He shoved his bowl away from himself and the milk remaining inside of it slopped onto the table between them.

Erik stood, carefully untangling himself from his chair. "First, you will clean that. Then, you will go to school. End of discussion."

"How'm I gonna do that? The car is broken! You said it was broken! If I could go on the bus like everyone else-"

"I will sort it out." Erik left the dining room and then the house entirely. He carefully put his own anger in check. It did chafe at him a bit to think that he was not wanted in the same house as his son, but he knew that the argument only really served as another way for Pietro to fire back at him for a perceived offense of the past. They were in an endless cycle of resentment that originated with Pietro but was not exactly helped by Erik's own naturally hot temper. The best way to handle it was to allow it to pass and to move on, he had found.

He had jumped at the idea of spending the day together and had given too much ground. It could also have to do with Pietro's being an only child. It was difficult not to give him an excess of attention or fawn over him and inadvertently spoil him, especially since they were quite solitary in their little family. What few blood relatives they had left were in Germany and most of them wanted nothing to do with Erik or his offspring. If Pietro was becoming spoiled, Erik had no one to blame for it but himself. It was not as though he had made any real effort to bring anyone else into their tiny circle from the outside via dating or anything like that. It was just he and the boy against the world, and it was beginning to wear on both of them.

Erik asked the only neighbor he trusted, a Mrs. Dominga, to let Pietro ride with she and her children when they went to school that day. At times he would ask her to look after Pietro when his shift at work was running late and her family had been more accepting and warm than nearly any other people that Erik had ever met. His offer of gas money was politely declined and he gave her his genuine gratitude. She was a good woman who was willing to ignore the occasional oddity in the Lehnsherrs and that was a rarity worth celebrating in Erik's opinion. He returned to make certain that Pietro was ready, taking no notice of the sullen attitude that was screaming out of the child's every pore in his very pointed silence, and he helped to bundle them all into Mrs. Dominga's Pathfinder. Erik's wave goodbye was answered with a glare - no surprise there, either.

Securing a ride for himself was not so simple a task. There were few enough people on the site that he would call friend, and none of them so close an acquaintance that they would be likely to drive out of their way to come and pick him up even if he did have a phone number for them. By the time he decided to call a cab and have his truck towed, he was doomed to be more than an hour late clocking in. It wouldn't bode well for him as far as repute, and he was annoyed at having to apologize yet again to his boss, but it took him that long just to find a mechanic willing to come and get the Toyota and work on it without charging half of Erik's next paycheck. He was beginning to think that the vehicle was more trouble than it was worth.

He hoped that Pietro's day was moving along more smoothly. After a rather tense conversation with Principal Frost the day before, wherein she had conveniently claimed to have misplaced the names of the parents of the boys who had ganged up on Pietro, it was decided that a closer eye would have to be kept on the situation. Whether that would solve the problem or make it worse was anyone's guess. Erik's own rather limited experience with bullies (he had always been good at defending himself) had taught him that they often did not respond well to being threatened or monitored. There was very little that he could do about it unless he took Pietro out of school entirely, and he thought that that would likely only make their tenuous relationship all the more strained. Being uprooted twice in the space of a year was not good for anyone.

Once again Erik's thoughts returned to Mr. Xavier as he wondered about the man's capabilities when it came to his job title as counselor. Agreeing to allow his son to go to a mild form of therapy had not been a simple decision, considering the associations often pinned onto psychiatric attention of any kind. He did not want anyone to think that Pietro was mentally imbalanced, least of all the boy himself. This of course would not be official therapy. It was not so different from chatting with a teacher after class; there would be no diagnoses or medications involved. Just talk. Considering how little of that Erik and Pietro had done lately, he honestly wished Xavier all the luck in the world.


	6. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 6

"Good afternoon, Pietro!"

Charles' energy seemed to catch Pietro off guard. His eyes were wide for a heartbeat or two, then he appeared to recover and he mumbled a barely audible, "Hey."

The final class of the day was under way in home rooms across the building. It would normally consist mainly of lesson review and discussion about the next morning, but seeing as this was a Friday, that did not apply and attitudes were more or less relaxed. It gave Charles ample opportunity to chat with Pietro for the better part of an hour. He could already tell just by looking at the defensive posturing of the young man that he would need all the time that he could get. Undaunted, he smiled with every ounce of his natural friendliness and waited for Pietro to get seated and comfortable. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Pietro wasn't sure what to make of all this attention. His book bag was placed in front of his feet on the floor like a shield between himself and the guidance counselor.

"Good. You can leave your book bag by the door next time, if you like. I promise I won't steal it."

"Oh. Okay." Pietro humored Charles with the ghost of a smile when he registered the attempt at a grown up joke.

Chares studied his new subject, resisting the urge to infiltrate his mind and affect a better, calmer state of awareness for the sake of their session. He could do it without any issue whatsoever. By the time he was finished, his 'patient' would be very calm and willing to converse. It did raise the issue of the morals involved with meddling in a person's, and especially a child's, mind. In his experience, the sorts of emotions that were forced upon a person via telepathic persuasion could not be trusted or depended upon. They were false and fickle, the final outcome too unpredictable. It didn't matter how genuine his motives were in wanting to help another person, for they often suffered from the influence rather than benefited from it in the end. Should the individual receiving these cerebral impressions become aware that they had been toyed with in such a manner, then they could become extremely disturbed by the notion. He had seen people develop crippling paranoia about the world around them after discovering the truth of the matter. It was much safer for him to coax a few clues out of a patient's thoughts and act on them accordingly, rather than invade those metaphysical boundaries and alter them and inevitably cause more trouble than what was originally there.

It looked as though Mr. Lehnsherr had helped Pietro to color his hair again. The shade of mousy brown that they had chosen was not exactly flattering to the youngster's skin tone, though it did seem to help give a boost to his overall confidence. The fact that he was even acknowledging Charles was proof of this. He sat quietly watching Charles, expectant of him to lead the way in a conversation, so that was exactly what he did.

"Do you know why I asked for you to come and see me today?"

Pietro shrugged. He looked as though he was ready to add a verbal reply to the gesture and after a bit of patience on the part of his counselor, he did: "I dunno. I mean...like...you think I'm crazy or somethin'."

"No," said Charles instantly. He leaned forward over his desk and showed his hands openly before folding them together. He hoped that his nonthreatening body language would help drive home the point that he wanted to make. "Pietro, I want you to listen very carefully. No one thinks you are crazy. Not your father, nor I, nor anyone else in this school. Okay?"

"Okay."

Charles smiled. He could tell that what he said had gotten through on some level and he was pleased to know that the boy had begun to abandon his suspicions about their meeting in relation to his perceived mental health. That was a good start. "So. Now that we've gotten that out of the way... How are you liking Littleleaf?"

"It's okay I guess." Here there was a flash of negativity hiding behind Pietro's words. Coming to this school had been hard for him mainly due to the treatment he had received via the older children. Though his face was quickly healing from its latest collection of injuries, the inner psychological wounds were slower to clear up. It did not take a telepath to see the discontent in his pale blue eyes when they darted down toward his scuffed white sneakers, which he idly rubbed against the worn carpeting of the floor. Another brief silence stretched out between them and Pietro recognized it as an adult's tactic for trying to make him talk more about himself. He turned the tables instead. "What about you?"

Charles blinked. "Pardon?"

"I mean you...you sound funny. Like, different. Like you're not from here." Some of the child's confidence waned as he worried that he might be touching on one of those subjects that he had seen grown ups fighting about. He had learned from his father that it was wrong to point out when a person's skin color was different from his own, or mock them if they spoke another language. Did that extend to accents as well? "I was just wonderin' if you...um...liked it here."

Xavier's warm laugh did much and more to dispel the uncertainty he could see in Pietro. "Yes. I like it here very much. My accent is a little funny, isn't it? I'm English. Meaning I'm from England."

"Oh." This information sunk in bit by bit. One could almost watch as a correlation was formed between the country of England and the concept of being English. Though not dim-witted by any means, Pietro had not yet had reason to make this connection before and now that he had, he was intrigued by it. English to him had always been a language of America. That it had other meanings was a small revelation.

"You and your father come from another country as well. Germany, isn't it?" Immediately, Charles could see that he had made a mistake in bringing up Erik or the country of birth for the two Lehnsherrs. The reaction he received was a very swift reversion into sullenness that he could watch happening before his very eyes. Not so severe that it made him worry for the second time about the possibility of domestic abuse, but ominous nonetheless. This time the only reply that he was given was a small nod. "That's very interesting. I think that being able to learn and understand more than one language makes you pretty smart. I don't know that I could do that."

Pietro shrugged. "It's whatever." His arms had folded across each other over his chest in a defensive display that made it clear how little he wanted to pursue their current line of questioning. The anger that he obviously had stored up for his father was of a kind that was more lasting that an average child was capable of sustaining. Most young minds would soon grow bored of their ire and let it go in favor of other more playful emotions. The rage within Pietro was different in that it spawned originally from love, from a broken heart. He had lost someone very dear to him and he blamed his father for it and at present nothing was sufficient to change his mind on the subject.

Charles did dig a little deeper then, carefully. He wanted to know the severity of the circumstances involving Erik and anyone else in Pietro's life that might have hurt him, whether it was intentional or not. To concentrate better he casually pressed his index and middle finger to his right temple, making it seem as though he were simply resting his face in his hand. What he received was very mixed. It was more tricky to search within the mind of someone so young than it was to search the mind of an adult, for a child's attention span was naturally quite short. It was like standing in the path of a breeze on which was carried autumn leaves of every imaginable color. To catch any one of them and give it scrutiny was to allow dozens more to flutter past without properly seeing them.

He was able to pick up on an extremely powerful emotional connection between Pietro and his mother, which was to be expected of any child. This connection however had a tendril of pain braided around it that was almost as potent as his love, a pain that was caused by the loss that Charles had sensed before. She was not dead, he concluded. Only gone. From Pietro's point of view, she was being forced to stay away because of Pietro's father. A more discerning and mature thought process could deduce that it was the woman's own decision to disappear from her son's life. Charles concluded this based upon the behavior that she seemed to have exhibited in relation to her would-be family before she left for good. He could feel how much her absence hurt his young patient and that sense of grief swelled within his own chest and might have overwhelmed him if he was not accustomed to separating himself from the powerful siren song of commotion within the consciousness of others.

There was another fragment within the whirlwind he was perusing that arrested him. It was a memory, and a fairly old one. The quality of detail within it was such that it must have been 'recorded' when Pietro was very young, perhaps two or three years old. Threaded through it were intense recollections of fear that ran so deep that it was harder to push them away than it had been to subtract himself from the other sensations that Charles had been privy to. It was difficult to 'see' anything in the memory beyond random blurs of varying shape and size. A flash of orange appeared here and there. Then there was a face directly in front of the toddler-Pietro's line of vision. It was his father's face, speaking to him. What Erik was saying in the memory was nearly impossible to make out; Pietro's understanding of words was still developing at that time. The fact that Erik happened to be speaking in German made it even more obscure to Charles. There was so much terror involved that he could venture an educated guess about the situation and say with reasonable certainty that the two Lehnsherrs were in some kind of terrible peril whenever this had taken place.

"Mister Xavier?"

Charles gave a start. He must have been quite a sight, staring blankly into space for several long seconds as he tried to make sense of what he had glimpsed within the mind of his young subject. Clearing his throat, he sat up a little more straight in his chair. "I'm sorry. Pietro... I would like you to come and talk with me, once a week. Would that be all right with you?"

Pietro shrugged again. "I guess."

They chatted a bit more about Pietro's day, Charles careful to steer the conversation away from more weighty subjects such as family. Touching upon it briefly had given him more than enough to think about until their next meeting and he did not want to push the child into talking about things that made him uncomfortable. Their time quickly ran out after that. Soon enough the final bell rang and other students poured into the halls, eager to embark upon the adventures that their weekend might bring. Conversely, young Lehnsherr was slightly more methodical in his intent as he gathered his jacket and his bag and slung both over the same shoulder.

"Would you like me you walk you out to your bus?"

Pietro shook his dark head and scowled. "Nah. My dad picks me up out front."

"Oh." The Englishman chewed on that for a second. Then he pushed aside his paperwork for the afternoon and stood, beaming. "Well, then I will walk you to your father's car. If that's all right with you."

"Yeah. Whatever."


	7. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 7

When Erik was forced to leave his shift early yet again to pick up his truck from the mechanic, he could tell that tensions were running high between himself and his foreman. He had spent the entirety of his shortened shift moving at speeds that were likely not advisable or safe, launching himself into every task that was appointed to him with a vigor and dedication that he hoped would make up for the brevity of his attendance. Much more of these shortened hours and he would be breaking his contract; he was informed of this in no uncertain terms by the foreman himself, Logan Howlett. They had had a fairly cordial relationship until this point. Both men had a prickly temperament, Howlett's of a more outspoken variety, yet somehow they complimented one another and were able to get on without too much clashing of egos.

"It's the damnedest thing," Howlett was saying. He stood near the spot where a concrete island was being poured and molded in preparation for the gas pump destined to be installed atop it. Huge tanks were already in place underneath the ground nearby and they would supply the fuel for the pumps that had still yet to arrive. Howlett was not happy about the delay and he was made even less happy by the knowledge that one of his men was asking to leave, again. His stature was unnaturally short, though he made up for that with sheer muscle tone. This was to say nothing of the way his voice could carry across a work site regardless of the running machinery that was present. He was speaking to Erik as he watched the progress of the men working in front of him. "I ain't no plumber, but that damned pipe was busted. There was water damage all around it. It was a damn swamp. Then you dig down to it and...nothin'. It's all hunky dory, not a problem."

Erik stood very still at Howlett's side. They had gone over this once before. He could not reveal that he had used his mutation to heal the break in the copper pipe, nor could he fabricate any kind of story that would make for a likely explanation as to why it had mysteriously fixed itself. Anything that he came up with would be discredited by Howlett, who looked to be the same age at Erik yet was somehow several years older. His experience would undercut any bullshit thrown his way. The only course of action that would not breed even more suspicion was one where he kept his mouth more or less shut. "It must be luck."

"You seem to get lucky a lot." The site foreman grinned around his ever-present cigar at Erik. He was not technically allowed to smoke, considering the highly flammable subterranean material nearby, and had been warned against it by clients more than once. It did little to dissuade him. Since none of the men working under him (many of them smokers themselves) were of a mind to file a complaint, the bad habit was ignored. He looked right at Erik in an appraising manner. "I'm not gonna fire ya. Not yet. You're handy, for a kraut, and we could use some _luck_ if we're gonna get this shit show wrapped up nice and pretty for the clients. Go do what ya need to do."

As to the prevalence of luck in his life, Erik could not speculate. He was relieved to be dismissed and he took advantage of it by wordlessly removing himself. Another cab ride on top of the bill that he would already be paying off once he reached the mechanic would set him back several hundred dollars and this coupled with the blatant wariness of his coworkers returned him to the surly mood that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days. It had been foolish to use his mutation to finish up his given task. He knew better than to make it that obvious, to all but flaunt his abilities and transform what should have taken an entire shift into a problem solved in a but a few seconds. It was careless and dangerous. He would have to keep his nose very clean if he didn't want to draw more attention than he already had.

Within an hour of leaving work he was back in the driver's seat of the Toyota. Whatever charm the truck might have held when he first bought it was no longer present. He was tempted to trade it in that very day for something newer and less troublesome. Instead, Erik went home and enjoyed a very long and very hot shower in his quiet, empty house. He shaved for the first time in nearly two weeks and fished clothes out of his closet that were not faded by bleach or torn on the job; few enough of those existed in his wardrobe that it took real effort to hunt them down. He settled on a black V-neck sweater and what were perhaps the only jeans that he did not wear to work. Why he felt like 'dressing up' more than he normally bothered to do, he wasn't entirely sure. It had been ages since he had put any real investment into his appearance. He had to admit that it made him feel better to get cleaned up for once.

Enough time remained before school let out that day for Erik to stop by a bakery and purchase a treat for himself and for Pietro. They were both equally fond of pastries. Their diets consisted of enough donuts and pies and strudel to likely qualify them as unhealthy. More than any other sweet, Pietro had always loved swirled cinnamon donuts. When younger he had delighted in how much they resembled giant lollipops and he would spend ages peeling the layers apart until he was half smothered in their icing. It became a weekly staple in their lives (if not more often) to splurge on them.

Erik stood leaning against the driver's side door of his truck, watching from behind reflective sunglasses as the first legion of students began to pour out of Littleleaf's double glass doors and line up for their respective buses. It was always chaos here this time of day. He would never quite become totally accustomed to just how noisy Americans were. Of course, children were naturally prone to existing at a high volume no matter what country they were in, but here the raucous atmosphere extended beyond schoolyards and playgrounds and included adults just as frequently as it did their younger counterparts. In New York these characteristics were especially noticeable. Be they on the street, indoors, or riding public transportation, Americans always had something to say. They often said those somethings very loudly, too. After years of living among them, Erik no longer resented this unavoidable fact and merely chose to observe it as an outsider. He bit into the apple fritter that he held by its wrapper in one hand and watched with mild interest.

Finally, Pietro appeared. He was not alone; Mr. Xavier was walking along at his side, chattering away about something or other, smiling. Laughing. He appeared to be a high-spirited man with an amiable face and body language that was just as open. His clothing was as clean and expensive as it had been the first time that Erik had seen him and it looked almost as though it were tailor-cut to fit him. He wore it well. The navy blue cardigan that he insisted on wearing over his more pale button-down shirt was unfortunate. Without it, one might better be able to see the lean shape of his upper body just as clearly as his legs could be admired through the well-fitted trousers. With that woolen thing on, it gave the impression that he was hiding. Maybe he was, reflected the German-born man. It would not do for a teacher to waltz about and scandalize his coworkers by flashing his buttons to the world.

Erik would have snickered at his own inner joke if he did not at that moment realize that both his son _and_ Mr. Xavier were headed right for him. The man meant to talk to him, apparently. For a few panicked heartbeats, Erik was not certain what to do with himself. He nearly fled from the possibility of an interaction. Having that kind of response to a mere conversation was of course ridiculous and he immediately stilled and put himself into check. Why was he so unnerved by the thought of this younger, shorter academic approaching him? It was unreasonable.

"Mister... Mister Lehnsherr, hello." Xavier stopped a few paces away and frowned briefly before offering a warm smile. At first his expression registered perplexity, as if he did not quite recognize the person to whom he was speaking. Then he stepped forward, making it clear that he intended to extend their pleasantries beyond a simple greeting.

"What's that?" Pietro pointed at the paper-wrapped parcel in his father's hand.

"A snack for you." Erik had given Xavier a polite smile right back and then he tried to hand over the swirled donut to his son, surprised when it was rejected.

"I don't want anything."

It should not have been a surprise at all, Erik supposed. Nothing that he and Pietro used to enjoy together was evidently good enough for the boy now. Not even a sweet treat that had once been his favorite. Still, Erik felt chafed by the dismissal. He ran his tongue over his own upper teeth in a personal display of aggravation. Once again his quickly souring mood made absolutely no impression on the younger Lehnsherr, who promptly walked around to the passenger side of their truck and climbed inside without so much as a glance at either adult.

Xavier laughed. He shrugged as though to say, _kids do the darnedest things_. "Well, I can't imagine anyone not wanting a donut."

"Mmmmh." Erik sighed. He balled up the fritter still sitting half eaten in his hand with no small amount of aggression, having lost his appetite for it. Already there was an awkward silence stretching between himself and the Englishman stationed in front of him, who had the bearing of a man who wanted to say something but didn't know where to begin. It felt odd to be standing there with uneaten food in his hands and nothing to say, so Erik tried to break the tension by reaching out and offering Pietro's share of the baked goods to his guidance counselor.

The reaction was spectacular; Mr. Xavier's face lit up like a ray of sunshine peeking around a rain cloud. His smile enhanced the effect even further. Were Erik not wearing shades, he wondered whether it would have hurt his eyes to look at it. Even with them on it was an amazing thing to witness, so utterly genuine and pure. A smile like that was better suited to someone being offered a new car or a first born child, not a cinnamon roll.

"Oh, I couldn't." Xavier was acting downright abashed that such a proposition had even been made.

"He doesn't want it. I don't want it. Go ahead."

"But, he might want it later..."

"Just take the donut." Erik leaned in to make it more difficult for his unexpected gift to be refused, his tone hopefully brooking no argument. This was beginning to become silly. He could just keep the damn thing and throw it away in the next trash can that he came across. As soon as the two of them were brought just that little bit closer, a breeze whipped through the immediate area and he caught a whiff of Xavier. It was an agreeable marriage of the construction-paper-and-glue scent that all schools seemed to have, and a brand of hair gel that Erik was not familiar with but that he approved of. Whatever kind of product it was, it seemed to work judging by how well it held the man's longish brunette locks in place despite the autumn wind.

Finally, Xavier conceded and he reached out to accept the snack gingerly with warm, careful fingers. He did not yet eat any of it, but he gave his head a nod of gratitude. "Thank you. I wanted to touch base with you, if that's all right. Our first chat went well. Pietro and I. He's a very bright lad."

"Yes. He is."

"I was wondering... Is he a fan of sports? We have several after-school activities that he might be interested in trying. Just to help occupy his mind. We have basketball, track, football. Things like that."

"Track, probably." Erik was thankful for the fact that his sunglasses were made both to shield his eyes and to prevent others from seeing them, for at that moment he found himself distracted by the mouth that was speaking to him. It was full and extremely red. Almost unnaturally red. He wondered in an abstract way just how old this unofficial psychologist was and whether he wore something cherry-flavored, like chap stick. If one were to judge Xavier based on his looks, one would be forced to guess the age of a man too young to be dressing like a librarian and posing as a teacher.

"Wonderful! I will speak with our head of P.E." The light-of-a-thousand-suns smile made a comeback. "That is, if Pietro is available to train. I wasn't sure if he is otherwise occupied in the afternoons on certain days. With other family members, perhaps?"

Instantly, Erik sensed that he was being led. His hackles raised up and he tensed all over involuntarily at the line of questioning that was becoming increasingly personal. What right did this Xavier have to snoop around in their lives the way that he was doing? It felt like he was trying to work out information and form an opinion of the Lehnsherrs based on that information and Erik did not like it. He could not possibly have cared less what any so-called authority figure in this institution thought of his home life as a single parent, or whether they felt that Pietro should have a mother around or siblings or whatever else the narrow-minded assumed that all children required in order to turn out with any measure of normalcy. They were doing just fine, in Erik's opinion. "I will check our schedule and get back to you." He pushed himself the rest of the way off of his truck and turned to open the door and slipped into the driver's seat all in the same graceful motion. The starting of the engine would serve as a sufficient farewell to see Xavier off before any more questions could be asked. If not, his driving away would make the point very clear.


	8. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 8

{ Author's note: This got to be a bit longer than I intended, so rather than make it ridiculous in length or split it into two chapters, I cut out a lot of the info that I had written regarding Raven and Kurt. They will be added later. I also tacked on a bit more info about Erik and Pietro's house into Chapter 5. Cheers! }

 _Shit_.

Charles watched the old Toyota with the Lehnsherrs inside practically peel out of the parking lot. It couldn't move very fast due to the congested nature of the traffic present on school property this time of day, but he suspected that if Erik Lehnsherr _could_ speed angrily off, he would have. Every inch of him had exhibited discomfort with where Charles had decided to take his line of questioning. Father and son really were identical in temperament, neither of them amused by even the hint that a person they did not know might be curious about their personal lives. Any attempt at finding out anything beyond the cursory outer crust of their mutual existence was met with hard, tight stares and short dismissive responses that effectively thwarted any further discovery. Pushing either one of them would gain no ground whatsoever. Whether that defensive strategy hid something more nefarious in nature than a mere preference for privacy remained to be seen.

 _Why did I push so soon?_

It was nearly impossible for Charles to concentrate under these current conditions; surrounded on all sides as he was by the lively minds of students and teachers and parents all vying for one another's attention, it was a wonder that he could focus enough to walk. Years of practice had honed his ability and taught him how to better tune out those details that did not relate directly to his current goals, but it could never be considered _easy_ by any definition. His mutation was very much a double-edged sword in that way.

It was always more difficult when he was in a crowd. Thoughts would at times reach him whether he wanted them to or not. Good thoughts, hateful thoughts, inane fantasies, biting judgements, mundane things like grocery lists, plans for the following day, deepest desires, abstract memories, triggers, inner monologues... He would always and forever be amazed by the human mind and how vastly different one could be from another, and by just how much clutter a single mind could cram into itself in a given moment. The outer skin of an individual often did nothing to prepare Charles for what lurked beneath their carefully-constructed shell; it would so frequently stand in perfect, sometimes terrible and sometimes beautiful contrast to the hidden depths of that person.

He had been too quick to hone in on Erik Lehnsherr's personl life. He chided himself inwardly. He normally had more tact than that. Really it was incredulous that his judgement had been affected so severely by both what he found within the German-born man's mind and what he was given to look at on the outside. Both were...arresting. At first, Charles did not even fully recognize the man as being the same one who had bulled his way into the school before, puffed up with anger and tracking dirt all over. This version of Lehnsherr was crisp and clean and calm with an air of quiet confidence that bordered on sheer arrogance and yet was more appealing somehow.

It was the nature of his thoughts that struck Charles the hardest. When immersed in a sea of bustling people, it was not always a simple matter for Charles to rein in his telepathy completely. Attuning his mutation onto one mind and shutting out the rest gave him a lifeline that he could hang onto and it allowed him to weather the chaos with a little more grace. The mind that he happened to choose as his savior belonged to Erik Lehnsherr, and what a mind it was. His thoughts about Xavier's appearance were somewhat shocking, since before that moment no indication had been made by Erik that he might have a sexual attraction for other men. As he stood discreetly checking Charles out with eyes cloaked by thick sunglasses meant to hide his subtle glances, these unknown proclivities were broadcasted as loudly as a foghorn calling wayward ships in to dock. It left Charles a little flustered and even more off-kilter than he had been up until that point.

His line of questioning had suffered as a result of how unnerved he was by the revelation. It might have been his way of subconsciously 'scaring' Lehnsherr off so that he could have a moment separated from the man in order to collect himself. Whether or not that was the case, it certainly worked. Charles was left like a fool standing in the middle of the parking lot with a hand full of donut and a mind full of questions. At length he decided to seek out the relative asylum of his office, in order to regain some better sense and at the same time collect his things in preparation for the trip home. He tore a frustrated bite out of the cinnamon roll that had been gifted to him on his way back inside.

Charles lived in a loft apartment on the second floor of a Dojo that was dedicated to teaching young people the path of Aikido. He actually owned the entire building, but only took the second level for himself. The rest was under the management of his adopted sister Raven, who was the Dojo's official _sensei_. They had lived together for a large number of years after moving from home, and had transitioned to New York together as well. Neither of them was at all interested in the politics of life as an Xavier and yet neither was totally willing to abandon their sibling, either. They had always been close. It was Charles who had instigated Raven's becoming an addition to the family when they were children; the only time that he blatantly used his mutation against his mother and step-father was when he had convinced them that it was their idea to bring a lost little girl into their lives.

The final martial arts class was being herded out, all dressed in their traditional _gi_ getups, as Charles approached. It felt a little like being at work all over again. This crowd was far smaller than the one at Littleleaf had been and he was not quite so close to becoming overwhelmed by it. His thoughts were occupied already. Carefully, he stepped around the students and he and Raven flashed distracted, tired smiles at one another as they passed. Neither of them was so emotionally dependent on one another as they had been when they had been younger and starting fresh in the world with no guidance or help from outside family members. It took little more than a wordless glance to communicate a great deal about their day. Charles' telepathic ability made it even quicker: He could sense that she was just as drained by a full work week as he was, just as ready to head home to her own apartment that she shared with her son, Kurt, and relax. They could have a more involved chat later when not bombarded by schedules that were finally waning down to an end.

The Dojo on the first level was decorated entirely in the Japanese style that was meant to channel the ancient roots of the practice of Aikido. From the modern yet authentic practice dummies to Watashi hanging lanterns and bamboo wall sconces and ornate wall plaques, all had been carefully selected for the purpose of making those in attendance feel as though they had stepped into a little piece of a rich world that was different in nearly every way from the shallow atmosphere of New York. Much of it had been paid for by Charles, who still did not have a great deal of knowledge about the culture that his sister was so fascinated with. He liked the feel of the place now, though. It had a genuine essence to it that made him think of Raven and therefor reminded him of a place that was meant to be home.

Upstairs was an entirely different story. He did allow a few little details of Raven's Dojo to trickle their way into his own private space, but for the most part it was soely his. Not nearly as much money was spent on his own home furnishings or decor as he had done on the lower level. It was incontestably a bachelor pad, almost Spartan in that he had only what he required as a single person to survive with adequate comfort. More effort was put into storage of his work items and his studies than in the upkeep of anything else. In truth, the place was a mess. He had mountains of books and legal pads and scratch paper piled onto every available surface. Some had migrated to the floor around his couch and coffee table. The bedroom tucked away in the back was in an identical state of disarray. His kitchen was littered with various containers left behind from take-out that had been ordered days previously. When he was not working, he was finishing up paperwork for the next day on the job and could rarely be bothered to do anything else, even if it was just tidying up.

Less than an hour after shutting his front door behind him, he emerged from a shower to his sitting room in a pair of loose-fitting boxers and an old tee shirt given to him by Raven with the circular emblem of The Ramones printed across its front. A bit of memorabilia from her punk-rock days, a time when she had dragged him to every concert that she could manage to get her hands on tickets for. He poured himself a glass of wine and threw himself onto his couch.

Erik Lehnsherr didn't like his cardigans. For some reason, this more than anything else stood out from his brief, one-sided mental interaction with the man. Of course, Charles had not had the time or the opportunity to delve any deeper past the shield of cold neutrality that Erik employed in an attempt to protect himself emotionally. It would have been breaking the rules that he had against invasion of privacy to do so and he was disappointed with himself already that he had done that once before, when he and the mysterious German had first met. The rather salacious imaginings that had been practically buck-shot from Erik's mind to his own were picked up inadvertently because Charles was too occupied to properly block them at the time. Now that he did know about them...what exactly was he expected to do with that information?

Nothing. His better sense and professionalism quickly reminded him of all that could be ruined by a relationship with the father of a student. More than that, a clearly unstable father of an equally troubled student whom he had decided to try and help. Currently the only member of staff at Littleleaf who knew that Charles was gay was Moira MacTaggert. She had agreed to keep it between them because really, it was no one's business save for Charles himself. And because the widely-accepted views on gay men in this country were almost as bigoted as those in relation to mutants. That Charles happened to fall under both of those categorizations would not bode well for his career no matter what field he chose to pursue in the event that it was discovered and made common knowledge. He was best advised to ignore Erik Lehnsherr's attraction for him as though he had never 'heard' it whispering through the halls of his intriguing mind.

On the other hand, Erik Lehnsherr was extremely attractive. _There is that_ , Charles reflected. He was tall and lean with a shape that was reminiscent a young tree; his shoulders were broad and they tapered down smoothly into waist and hips that wore those dark jeans that he had selected today very, _very_ well. The way he had leaned against the truck as those hidden eyes of his appraised Charles was perhaps the most inviting thing that the guidance counselor had seen in ages. That was how long it felt since he had last had a date: ages. Centuries. An eternity. It was exaggerated infinitely longer in his reckoning when he ventured to imagining what it might be like to be touched by the elder Lehnsherr's hands, which were no doubt made rough and strong due to his work as a laborer. And he was a mutant, too... There was very little chance that he would 'out' any fellow enhanced persons.

It was wrong. Charles knew it was wrong. He lay his head against the back rest of his seat and looked for the correct answer to his inner turmoil, hoping that it would be written in plain English across his ceiling. No such luck. His second glass of wine made the thought of having an affair with Erik Lehnsherr seem a little less criminal, and a little more like a naughty dream that he might have a shot at making a reality. He thought that if he just got to know Erik a little better, maybe he would get lucky and find something out about the man that appalled him so horrifically that he would not want to pursue seducing him. Like a wife tucked away somewhere or a past murder, or an extreme foot fetish. Something grotesque like that. And if he was _very_ lucky, then nothing so scandalous would rear its secretly unwanted head. They could both work off a bit of stress. Maybe that was what the man needed to lighten him up. Maybe it was what Charles needed to pry himself out of his current funk. Maybe...


	9. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 9

"Can we get a cat?"

Erik's pale blue eyes shifted away from the television to his son. They normally did not watch TV while eating dinner, but the report about the mutant who had 'blown up' at the fast food restaurant was still unfolding with new details. He was curious to know what was going to be done with the _offender_. Thus far, all that was being told to the public was that he had been perceived as a threat to society and was under custody. Words like that always made Erik nervous; he knew all too well what kinds of cages were often built to house _threats to society_. He blinked slowly to express his surprise at the sudden request. "Vas?"

"A cat. Like, a kitten. Y'know...um... Meow?"

"Why?"

Pietro did not expect to have to explain his reasoning for wanting a pet. It was his turn to blink. "Cause... I dunno. Cats are cool. Vita has one and she says-"

"Vita?" Erik lifted an eyebrow. He reached out with his mutation and influenced the metallic components of the television to turn it off, the better to give Pietro his full attention.

"She's a girl in my class. She has a cat named Ginger."

"This is the first I have heard of her. Is she your friend?"

"I dunno. She's just a girl. Just...never mind." Pietro had that look about him that warned of his receding into himself once more. It was a tightening around the eyes and mouth, an unmistakable cue. He pushed at the food on his plate with his fork absent-mindedly. Before long the transformation into a pout would be complete on his face and there would be no getting information out of him.

After watching this all-too-familiar and unwanted shift begin to take place, Erik decided to switch gears, since the door had been more or less opened for conversation between them. "We will see about the cat. You still haven't told me what you and Mr. Xavier spoke about today."

"Nothin'. He just...like...asked me about school. He's from English. Or...um...England." The boy's face did brighten somewhat when he remembered a juicy piece of information that had been brand new and mysterious for him earlier in the day.

Erik smiled. "I thought so. Did you tell him where we are from?"

"He guessed."

"Ah."

Erik supposed it was not exactly surprising that their origins had been guessed. Not after he had spoken German in Xavier's office. There were certain details about their past in Germany that Erik was not keen to share with anyone. The passing of years between now and that fateful time would not have done much to lessen the shock of the general public when it came to definitive events. Events that were extreme enough to force a father and his toddler son to flee an entire country. He knew that many people here in America would likely not want them to remain, were they aware of a collection of specific facts that he fought tooth and nail to keep under wraps. Not just the fact that Erik was a mutant, but that he was technically a wanted man in his home country.

As for his status as a mutant...that was also quite an unsavory tidbit for the average people to swallow. Mutants were not yet forced to register themselves here the way that they were in the Fatherland, but that did not necessarily mean that Americans were more accepting of their kind. The prejudiced views that were openly announced following an accidental incident involving a young man at a Lotzo Burger only the previous day were proof of that. Already, demands were being made for the fiery individual to be locked up at best, and killed at worst. Protests were being held. Government officials were becoming involved, and they were doing nothing to lessen the near-panic of the masses. In fact, they were feeding it.

A place in the world where non-mutants were comfortable dealing with the 'mutant problem' did not exist. If details about his and Pietro's past were to come to light, both of them might be subject to the same sorts of cages that the unfortunate firestarter was currently subjected to.

"What else did he guess?" Erik tried to sound casual.

"Nothing."

"Well, what else did he say?"

"I dunno... Why don't you ask him yourself?" Pietro was frustrated. He looked as though he regretted ever speaking up about the cat in the first place; had he known that it was going to turn into an interrogation about his friends and his guidance counselor, he would have kept his mouth shut. "Can I be excused? I don't want any more food."

Erik nodded. He poked at his own share of dinner much in the same way that Pietro had done as he listened to the child in the kitchen scraping off his plate. It was always difficult for them to talk about Germany, even before this extended campaign of the silent treatment that had been initiated by the younger Lehnsherr. For Erik it was painful to recall on many different levels. In some ways it was harder for him than it was for Pietro, who had been so little at the time that they had left for America. Most prominent of all of the recollections were the ones of being driven from their house with smoke and flames, of Pietro screaming in his arms, coughing. He could not think about their first home together without being cast into mental images of a fire surrounding them nearly on all sides, and bullets awaiting them in their front yard. The smell of charred wood and the 'taste' of gun metal were still triggers for Erik to this very day.

He knew that memories of those events still likely floated around waiting to be unlocked and recalled into Pietro's young mind as well. Not talking about them would not make them go away. Whether Xavier was astute enough to pick them out was the real question. Xavier's obvious tendency to be nosy could become an issue if he was not warned against the avenues down which it would be best for all of them if he did not travel. The last thing that Erik wanted to do was damage his son further by repressing anguish within him, but by pulling it free of him they stood the risk of getting into serious trouble.

He wondered whether Xavier could be trusted to exercise discretion. Already the Englishman was stirring dangerous embers that could flash and spark and scald everyone involved. The way he had all but demanded whether or not Pietro had more family at home spoke of a lacking in tact on the younger man's part. The man's age - or lack thereof - was an interesting factor that raised questions about his level of experience, and whether or not his brand of _therapy_ would help Pietro or hurt him.

Erik wanted to speak with him a bit more, gauge how formidable a threat he might turn out to be. He told himself that the reasoning behind this was purely for the sake of protecting Pietro, which was after all the single most important thing in his life. It was most assuredly _not_ because of the way that Xavier had smiled at him when he accepted the baked treat. Nor indeed was it the soothing cadence of his voice, lightly seasoned with a gentle English accent that somehow worked to smooth down Erik's own ruffled feathers with barely any effort, or the way that Xavier had smelled. None of these things mattered as much as watching out for Pietro. They would not factor into Erik's decision about the man; he would not let them.

The following day was unseasonably warm, opening up avenues for the two Lehnsherrs to occupy themselves with outdoor activities rather than stay inside and glare at each other all day in pregnant silence. Erik was exhausted of trying to create a desire for conversation with his son where there was none, and he was disheartened by how much Pietro's indifference was eating away at his own willingness even to try. It really was like being forced to deal with a younger version of himself. He would never again scoff derisively at people who told him that his cold demeanor was impossible. Now he knew exactly what they were talking about.

As soon as the house was in order (Erik would not leave it a mess for any reason), he made sure that the truck was going to start and then suggested that they go to the park. To his relief, the idea was met with more enthusiasm than he had seen Pietro express for the previous month. They put on light sweaters just in case the weather turned and headed off.

The park that they both preferred happened to be only a few miles away. It was spacious enough that a child could run until he was completely tired out and still have plenty of room to keep going once he rested. A soccer field, playground, baseball diamond, tennis court and duck pond made up only a few portions of Action Park's vast collection of amenities. Erik hoped that by the end of their day there, Pietro would be too tired to keep up his facade of bitterness.


	10. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 10

It took a solid twelve minutes of his phone ringing to rouse Charles out of bed. He stumbled through his apartment with all the grace of a reanimated corpse, his clumsy collisions with furniture giving the impression that he had forgotten where everything was located. In some ways, he had; the deep and glorious slumber that had been taken from him remained enough to cloud his judgement of distance and item placement to the extend that he very nearly broke three toes just moving from his bedroom to his sitting room, where his land line was located. He had recently bought one of the newer cellular phones to come out on the market, but he rarely if ever charged the thing. The whole reason he kept his phone outside of his bedroom was so that he could sleep in on the weekends.

"'Lo?"

"Finally! It's been ringing on your end for half the morning." Raven sounded irritatingly chipper.

"Yes I know. What can I do for you, Raven?" There was more of a bite to his slurred words than he had intended. The dry, swollen state of his tongue reminded Charles that he had had a few glasses of wine last night before crawling into bed. He smacked his lips and grimaced, hoping that it would not cause a headache later on. If Raven was calling this early (he found his watch lying on the coffee table and discovered that it was 8:17am, a disgusting hour for a Saturday), then her reasoning would probably summon whatever migraine might be lurking within his brain, just waiting for the right prompting.

"You're pretty impatient for a guy who takes an hour to answer the phone."

"I've answered it now, and you have my full attention. Is everything all right?"

She sighed hard enough to cause a crackle of static over the line. It was another sign that she was about to ask for help; she despised being the one in need of anyone's assistance, even if it _was_ her brother's. The fact that Charles was so damned willing (most of the time) to lend a hand in any way that she needed him to made it worse somehow. Like she was taking advantage of him. It didn't stop her from laying on his land line until it rang itself practically off its table first thing in the morning, though. "Can you watch Kurt for me today? One of my students has a sparring match in Saratoga and I can't miss it. Then I have a dentist's appointment this afternoon. My sitter cancelled again, and I can't take Kurt to the match, or the dentist. The last time he came with me he, screamed the whole time and kicked Dr. Payne in the shin-"

"Your dentist's name is Dr. Payne?" Charles always had a hard time of it, keeping up with Raven this early in the day. Her typical hastiness caused her to squeeze as much information into a single breath as was humanly possible without fainting from lack of oxygen. He plopped himself onto his couch as the facts slowly seeped into his caffeine-deprived brain. He was pondering the social ramifications of a dentist named Payne when he heard her huff indignantly.

"Yes. His name is Dr. Payne and Kurt doesn't like him. Did you hear anything else I said?"

"Of course. I will watch him for as long as you need me to." The response came automatically. No matter how much Charles would have enjoyed a day of doing absolutely nothing, he could not in good conscience say no to Raven.

" _Thank_ you." This was what she wanted to hear, evidently. In the background of her call, the child in question could be heard squealing and she gently chided him. "We don't climb the T.V. case, Monkey." She sighed again.

Charles yawned hugely and ran a hand over his face. His eyes were coming more into focus, enough that he could look around at the chaotic mess that was his living area and realize he would soon have to make it a suitable environment for a six-year-old child. So much for relaxing on his day off. He didn't mind, honestly; he loved Kurt as if he were his own son, always had.

The details surrounding his conception were still a bit foggy. Somehow, Raven managed to keep them out of her mind consistently enough that her telepathic sibling could not ferret out every piece of the puzzle. Not that he was desperate to do so, since after all she was a grown woman. All that he knew was that she had disappeared off the radar of his life for several months when she was nineteen years old and he was twenty-one. He searched for her nearly constantly during that time, no small feat considering the fact that her mutation allowed her to transform her physical self into almost anything, and anyone, that she wanted to. When he was beginning to think that she might have been in serious trouble or worse, Raven suddenly resurfaced. He was so happy to see her again that he didn't care what had happened, so long as she was all right. As it had turned out, she was more than just all right - she was pregnant.

"Thank you, Charles. Are you sure you don't mind?" The confidence in her voice lessened for a beat or two as she wondered yet again whether she was taking advantage of her brother's seemingly endless font of selflessness. He had always, _always_ been there for her no matter what. Sometimes she wondered if she deserved a person like that in her life.

"Not at all. You know I love Kurt. I'll see you when you get here."

Charles spent the next hour and a half picking up various bits of debris that had ended up scattered about in the tornado that was his daily life. His work things were collected first, as they were the most important items in need of proper storage. When his filing cabinet was so full that it doubled as a booby trap, he shoved the rest of his paperwork into the desk that he had used all of twice since he had bought it. The kitchen was a more simple matter, requiring only that he scoop all of the food containers and other bits of trash into the waste bin. Satisfied that he would pass inspection, he dressed himself in a pair of faded jeans and a thin sweater in a gentle lilac shade.

A knock came at his front door, which was situated at the bottom of the staircase that separated the Dojo from the flat in which Charles lived. Charles answered to find Kurt holding up a stuffed toy monkey. To further demonstrate his prized possession, he shouted "I have a monkey!"

"I can see that." All of Charles' lingering fatigue left him as he watched the boy bounce his way happily up the stairs and into what passed for his foyer. It was like looking at a miniature, male version of Raven. At least, in the shape of Kurt's face. From what little he had dared to glean from the memories that Raven had stored away, Charles knew that Kurt's father was the one who gifted him with his jet black hair. And that was the full extend of the man's involvement in their lives thus far. Both of Kurt's parents were mutants whose natural skin tone and eye color were decidedly _un_ natural. Whether or not Kurt would develop the blue scales of his mother's real flesh or the scarlet shade of his father's remained to be seen. But it didn't matter at all to Charles, of course; his nephew could morph into literally anything and he would still love every inch of him.

"Thank you again, Charles. I'll try to finish up at the dentist as quick as poss-" Raven stopped when she saw the state of the apartment that she and her son were currently walking into. She gave Charles a long-suffering look. "Do you want me to help you clean up before I go?"

"I did tidy up. A great deal, in fact." Charles crossed his arms defensively.

"This is _a great deal_? Honestly, Charles, you're almost thirty. I know you can clean up after yourself. I have _witnessed_ it."

"Almost thirty? Not for a few years, thank you... And I am entirely capable of cleaning up after myself. I just did!"

Raven looked as though she were second-guessing her decision, but it was mostly all for show. Their way of relieving tension with one another was to bicker about little things until they both feigned a shouting match and then laughed it off. Already there was the hint of a smile around the blue eyes of her favorite human form. This one had long blonde hair and the strong yet feminine physique of a woman who looked even younger than her twenty-five years. While in her natural blue-skinned state, she did not like to be stared at by anyone, any time. With this full-length mask she could both hide her status as a mutant and enjoy the benefits of the attention it garnered from those who looked at her and underestimated her true power. "I'm not going to clean your apartment."

"Raven, don't clean my apartment. It's fine."

"I don't have time to clean your apartment, even if I wanted to. And I _don't_ want to. You need a maid or a cute boyfriend to clean for you. Or a cute boy maid friend. Then I could come over and watch him clean for you."

"Are you still here? Go!" He shooed her playfully toward the door and pulled a mocking face at her attempt to glare at him. When he noted that Kurt had taken the opportunity given by lack of adult supervision to start climbing up onto the bar that separated sitting room from kitchen, Charles was quick to cross the room and lift the happily squealing boy into the air. He tossed him over one shoulder and left him there so that he could continue to herd his mother out the door. The last thing that he wanted was another lecture about being single from a woman who happened to be worse at the whole dating phenomenon than even he was. They could argue about this until they were both one foot in the grave.

"Be good for Uncle Chuck!" Raven shouted with a sweet smile thrown at her brother, just before she made her way toward the staircase leading down to her Dojo. The door between the two levels was meant to afford Charles at least a smidgen of privacy. She had had a key to it from the beginning of their agreement on the use of the building.

"Don't call me that," groaned the former heir to the Xavier fortune. From the child slung across his shoulder was bellowed a close imitation of the unwanted name: "Uncoo CHUCK!" Hearing this, Charles gave another defeated sound and he promptly tickled Kurt into a fit of hiccups.

It did not take long for Kurt to become bored. Like any child of his age (he would be seven in a month), he managed to find every piece of trash that his _uncoo Chuck_ had not spotted whilst tidying up the place. Once he had inadvertently helped Charles to finish cleaning, he began to climb various bits of furniture and ask incessantly where his mother had gone and when she would be back. Charles decided to take him to the park to work off a bit of his energy, since they were both already dressed to protect against chilly weather.

The best play ground nearby was at the Action Park. He piled them both into his Gremlin and drove out to where the suburbs gave way to acres of lush trees perfect for young boys eager to scramble up their trunks or search for lizards and chase squirrels among their roots. All of these things and more were exactly what Kurt was eager to do. He exploded from the car as soon as Charles opened the door and made a beeline for the nearest jungle gym, mounting it as speedily as the toy monkey that he held clutched in his arm. Truly, his ability to scale even the most formidable of structures was a wonder for anyone of his height. The moment that he was on top of the dome-shaped set of metal bars, he shouted for Charles to look at what he had accomplished.

Charles waved to let his nephew know that he had seen him. A cup of tea that he had brought from home in a thermos was clutched between his hands and he took a long pull on the warm liquid. It was a beautiful day, perfect for an outing. Several other families appeared to have had the very same idea. Charles let his eyes wander to a few of the well-dressed mothers, bored-looking fathers and children all shouting over each other to be heard. Leaves that flashed in steadily shifting colors fluttered down toward the soft wood chips that covered the ground beneath much of the playground equipment, and this coupled with the rich green of freshly-cut grass made for a breathtaking view. Not even the presence of so many minds unknowingly vying to clutter up his consciousness and utterly distract him could take away from Charles' quiet enjoyment of the scenery. All that he had to do was step away from the little groups of people who obviously knew each other and he was given enough respite from their invading thoughts to focus on Kurt.

Another child caught the Englishman's eye. At first, he was not certain that he had seen who he had seen. Hair that was a shade or three too dark and very subtly flecked with tendrils of silver caught the light just before the child turned and his face was made visible. Charles narrowed his eyes. _Is that...?_

"Fancy seeing you here," said the voice of Erik Lehnsherr.


	11. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 11

"Fancy seeing you here."

Mr. Xavier nearly dropped the thermos in his hand. Those interesting eyes of his widened with stark surprise when they saw Erik. If it had not already been obvious that the sudden interaction was not expected, then it certainly was made clear by his gaping. Xavier's gaze was ringed by a faint double shadow of fatigue this time. Maybe the young guidance counselor had had a late night of work. Or might it have been heavy playing that had kept him up? Thinking of the possibilities could have proven to be quite the distraction.

"Mister Lehnsherr, what-" Xavier might have been about to say, _what are you doing here_ , but then thought better of it. "How nice to see you again."

"That one yours?" Erik had seen a small boy running in front of Xavier when they had exited his Gremlin (an outrageous and inexplicable choice of vehicle for the straight-laced academic that the man appeared to be), and did not think that there was much if any familial resemblance. Still, it stood to reason that the boy was Xavier's son. It was possible; Xavier looked young to Erik, but old enough at least to have fathered a child. Even if that child looked almost nothing like him.

Charles blinked at the question, then at the boy, and obviously struggled to regain his scattered wits. "No...well, yes, but... I am just watching him. He's my nephew."

"I see."

"Yes. My sister had pressing business outside of the city, and she couldn't take Kurt along, so I agreed to look after him. He was terribly bored in my apartment, so..." The flood of words came to an end in a fit of self-conscious realization on Xavier's part that he was rambling. He had forgone the cardigan today, Erik noticed. In its place was a light and casual sweater in a very flattering shade of...purple?...that left his arms bare below the elbows and showed the outline of his body perfectly. It was especially noticeable when he stood up a little straighter and cleared his throat. "Well, you know how it is."

"I do," said Erik. The Lehnsherrs too had come to the park due to boredom, among other reasons. If they had remained at home it was only a matter of time before an argument erupted and Pietro would shut himself into his bedroom and they would hardly speak to one another for the rest of the day. Here, at least, there was a greater chance that they would find something fun to do together.

Erik wondered if he was making the shorter man nervous. It would not be the first time that his mere presence and his direct eye contact had caused discomfiture in another person. To alleviate some of it - and to keep himself from staring as well - he turned his attention toward the playground. Quickly he found Pietro climbing up the imitation rock wall, hands and feet carefully searching for purchase before his chosen step was tested by his full weight. Next to him, the younger child - Kurt - shot up the very same piece of equipment as if he were born in a tree and had spent every moment of his life swinging through branches and hiking up sheer cliffs. The look on Pietro's face when he saw this was amusing even at a distance.

Erik had not been watching for Xavier, of course. There was no logical reason for him to expect to have seen the man that day. It was dumb luck that he had happened to catch the flash of bright green that was the Gremlin pulling into the parking lot nearby, and when the driver side door had opened, Erik did not believe his own eyes. He must have been imagining things, he thought. As it turned out, his vision had not failed him; it _was_ Mr. Xavier walking casually up to the main portion of the playground, on the trail of an extremely energetic, olive-skinned little boy who shouted for his attention the whole time.

He looked better than any of the previous times that Erik had seen him. Their brief chats had always taken place on school property, where a teacher was expected to dress appropriately. His position demanded an aesthetic that made him resemble a librarian, and while that was most assuredly not a bad look for him...this more laid-back outfit was preferable. It spoke of how he was as a man, when he was not holding up the image of his title. Erik had told himself that there was no reason for him to approach. Plenty of people showed up at the park on days like this one. No communication between them was required beyond perhaps a distant nod or a wave. Before he quite realized it, his treacherous feet were carrying him closer and a greeting had sprung to his lips, and now they stood side by side, watching the children in a slightly awkward silence.

"How is Pietro today?" Xavier broke the stalemate with a smile.

Immediately, the automatic reply of _He's fine_ appeared at the forefront of Erik's mind. Most anyone who had ever deigned to ask him about his son had received just such a guarded monotone answer. It wasn't anyone's business what was happening with Pietro, save for the boy and his father. This time, though, Erik found himself extending that sentiment into something more, while his eyes followed the subject about which he was speaking. The sun caught in Pietro's hair and revealed the silvery dust hidden in the darkness, he noted. It was becoming harder and harder to hide it. "He seems to be well enough. Not that he would tell me, if he wasn't."

"He'll come around."

Xavier sounded very certain of this. So much so that it caused Erik to glance over at him once more, as though he might be able to see written across the younger man's features just how much he knew about Pietro and about the Lehnsherrs as a whole. Of course, Erik trusted his son. After years of keeping their past a secret, they were both very adept at concealment. Accidents did happen, of course, and Pietro _was_ only a child. This would be the first time that he had let slip anything substantial enough to incriminate either of them - if indeed that was what the boy had done. Barring that, Erik was not certain how else the truth could have been found out. Unless Charles Xavier was an unnaturally good detective, and he did not look the part. He looked...harmless.

If Erik really wanted to get into that pretty head and find out what might or might not be wheedled out of his son during these mysterious private conversations held under the pretense of unofficial _therapy_ , he knew that the best way to do so was to ingratiate himself with Xavier. Over the years his naturally standoffish demeanor had evolved into a rather unsavory and cold disposition, but when he cared to put his mind to it, the German-born ferrokinetic mutant could be manipulative. He could take steps toward making a person think that they liked him. He could make them trust him. It was how he was always able to find work even when other men could not, his various physical trade talents notwithstanding.

"I suppose I should apologize for...my behavior the other day. What happened to Pietro wasn't your fault." He tried for a smile and it felt like the grimace of a cornered ape.

Xavier flashed his own far more brilliant grin back, and it came with the distinct impression of a man humoring another man. As though he knew that the almost-apology was merely a ruse, yet he was willing to accept it for its face value nonetheless. "It was an upsetting situation for everyone," he said lightly. After a moment, he started to take advantage the open door that had been left by the older man: "Mister Lehnseherr, I was wondering-"

"Mister Xavier?" Pietro appeared out of nowhere, his features dusted with red from his exertion in the mildly chilly weather. Anyone could look at him and see that he was shocked to see a _teacher_ outside of _school_. It screamed from his fair, screwed up brows and the incredulity of his tone.

"Hello, Pietro! How are you today?" Charles was laughing immediately. To Erik it looked like he was as delighted by the confusion he had inspired as much as by the unexpected appearance of one of his students.

Now that he had confirmed that it was indeed his guidance counselor out in public like any normal person, Pietro was not sure what to do with that information. He shuffled the toe of one sneaker against the wood chips on the ground. "'M all right."

"It's a beautiful day today, isn't it?" said Xavier.

 _Quite beautiful_ , thought Erik as he watched Xavier speak with his son. Neither of the Lehnsherrs quite knew how to accept this upbeat behavior. It was so unlike the commonly bitter and dark attitudes of many New Yorkers and indeed, of many people throughout the world. Somehow Xavier's presence made them feel brighter themselves, and neither of them knew why or how. Erik's reaction was curiosity; he wanted to study it and figure it out and bask within the rays of more of it. Pietro wanted to meander his way away from it before it infected him and stole away his ability to keep up his negative facade. Neither of them made a move to subtract themselves from it completely as of yet, and Xavier chuckled and smiled at them all the more like a man who knew of their inner struggles, and knew as well that he could disarm them with a bit of positivity.

Soon enough, Kurt joined the strange little party. He ran around and around his uncle, whooping and swinging his stuffed toy to and fro and kicking wood chips all over everyone.

"Kurt, these are my friends. This is Erik, and this is Pietro." Charles ran his fingertips over the small boy's black hair in a futile attempt to tame it as Kurt thundered past for the third time.

"I have a monkey," Kurt informed Pietro, and then Erik, respectively.

"What is his name?" asked Erik.

This question had evidently not been asked of the child as of yet, nor had it ever entered the lightening-quick sphere of the consciousness common to many six-year-olds. He was given great pause by it, and he stood in hard contemplation for a stretch of time that was not so common to him. What to name his most prized possession? His face squeezed up with concentration and he examined the animal held between his small hands. Finally, he beamed up at Erik and announced his choice: "Banana! Because...'cause...monkeys like bananas, so...so it sh' be his name!"

"Perfect." This time when the elder Lehnsherr smiled, it didn't feel forced at all. He was thinking of when Pietro had been as young as the bouncy little creature in front of him was now, and it brought from deep down inside of him a rare flash of true warmth that showed on his face. Those days had been happier. Simpler. He missed them - he missed his son.

"Where'd you get it?" Pietro asked of Kurt.

"My Mommy gived him to me today. She buyed him cause he's special. She went to the den-tissst. Where is your Mommy?" Kurt spun on the spot as he scanned the park for a woman who was likely, in his mind, to be Pietro's mother. His innocent question and the way that it was delivered did not take any weight from the very complicated answer that no one seemed to want to give him.

Pietro's reaction was to retreat into himself. It could be witnessed to happen. His shoulders twitched in a half-shrug and then slumped, his pale eyes dropping toward the ground. Honestly, he too wanted to know where his mother was. Unlike the smaller child, however, he knew better than to ask. Doing so would only cause his father to become exasperated and angry, and no helpful solution would come of that. Deep down, he knew that not even Erik was aware of the whereabouts of Magda nor whether she would ever show her face again. It made him feel somehow better to think that his dad was intentionally keeping her from him, though. That way, no one could say that she was not here with him because she didn't _want_ to be there with him.

Charles dove in to the rescue, maybe because his trained psychological instincts told him it was time to change the subject. "Kurt, why don't we fetch the soccer ball from the car and have a game?"

"BALL! BALL!" Kurt agreed, jumping up and down in place.

"Care to join us?" Xavier's most winning grin was unleashed full force upon both of the remaining members of their unlikely circle. "It will be far more fun for everyone if you do."


	12. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 12

It was two months now since Charles had had a proper date. He didn't like to think about it. Allowing the memory to enter his mind of his last steady boyfriend was to also give life to how that relationship had ended and by extension how virtually every relationship that he had in the past tended to end. His telepathy had many, many beneficiary aspects to it and he was grateful to have them during certain times in his life. His line of work made the enhanced ability to read and understand people invaluable and allowed him to help them in ways that other people were not capable of doing. It was, however, murder to his social life.

He could not safely tell prospective partners that he was a mutant with telepathic powers. The average man simply could not wrap his head around a notion such as that (so to speak) and it made everything infinitely more complicated. The very few times that Charles had deigned to share his deepest and most secret of secrets, he had come to regret it. Some of those instances of revelation had ended up becoming so disastrous that all that he could do to protect himself and his loved ones was to wipe all memory of the relationship from the person's mind, to remove himself from the picture entirely. Each and every time that he was forced to do it, or forced to lie and conceal this inherently large portion of who he was, it hurt. It was like a part of him ceased to exist anymore - the part of him that had allowed itself to care deeply for another human being. He absolutely hated the hollowness and the bitterness that would inevitably follow, but he also knew that there really was no other way but to kill whatever connection there had been and move on. No looking back.

'Hearing' the buckshot blast of Erik Lehnsherr's attraction to him could not be helped. He didn't seek it out intentionally; it found him like the call of the last remaining fellow member of his species, and filled his consciousness with its highly distracting presence and he was unable to stop himself from 'listening.' Naturally, he had heard men - and women - unintentionally broadcasting their romantic interest for him enough times before to have become adept at hiding the majority of his own reactions to it. Most people would never suspect that he was made uncomfortable by the often lewd nature of their thoughts, whether they pertained to him or not.

Maybe he was less capable of thwarting Mr. Lehnsherr's thoughts because deep down he really wanted to hear them. In this case, it was not lechery that fluttered from Erik's mind and stuck to Charles' consciousness, like stray bits of damp spiderweb clinging to the shields that he tried halfheartedly to put up against them. What tendrils of thought that were allowed to slip through were more high brow, in a way. Lehnsherr didn't immediately entertain filthy fantasies of taking Charles to a bathroom and fucking him, or of the whole naughty-student-strict-teacher cliche that was so very common. His mind was of a more...somehow graceful variety. Very calm and organized. Very curious. Almost quiet, but absolutely not due to anything resembling stupidity. A fierce and sharp intelligence lurked beneath his observant outer layers. It made Charles want to listen even more.

It was amusing to think that Erik had it in his head that he would try and manipulate Charles into liking him. Not for sex, as it turned out, but simply to protect himself and his son. There was a very rocky past that the Lehnherrs shared, and the elder of the two German-born individuals was deadly serious about keeping it under wraps. It occurred to Charles that his own little inward joke the night before about this man being a murderer might be true after all. Somehow it did not dissuade him, thinking that he might be spending the afternoon with a killer. Yet again, he was hesitant to delve too deeply, even if it meant finding out the truth of that highly sensitive matter. Nevertheless, images did flash out at him like knives in the calculated darkness of Erik's mind. They were violent and guarded and intense. If he had killed someone, it was to protect his son. That fact was paramount to what Charles could pry loose before he was thoroughly distracted by the soccer game that he himself had volunteered as an idea for all of them. He wanted to learn more, but simply could not spend adequate attention on it right at that moment.

Erik and Charles led the two boys to a field that was already manicured and decorated with nets for just the very sport that they had in mind. It was a bit vast in size for a six-year-old, so they created a makeshift goal of their own using the tea thermos and Erik's jacket as posts, and positioned it closer to one of the actual goals already included in the field. They decided to make each team as even as possible in odds, with father and son on one team, and uncle and nephew on the other. Surprisingly, Pietro did not issue complaint about playing on the same side as his dad. He seemed just as excited about the game as Kurt was, though less eager to show it via hopping and shouting the way that the smaller boy was doing. Pietro wore a tee shirt with a comic book character that Charles had seen before. It took him a moment to recall the super hero's name, the echo of it helpfully present within Pietro's mind. The shirt looked as though it had been worn almost to tatters, as though it might be a favorite shirt. Perhaps this could be a key with which Charles could unlock a bit of information from of the young man later on. He would have to look further into this comic book series - this Scarlet Witch - and see what he could find on it.

The elder Lehnsherr was similarly casual in his attire. With only a black turtleneck sweater to cover his upper body and a pair of well-fitted jeans on the lower, Erik proved to be far more of a visual diversion than Charles had anticipated. He had a look of determination on his face softened by the hint of a smile. It crinkled the skin around his eyes slightly, the lines deepening when he caught Xavier looking at him. Struck by that almost mischievous expression, Charles very nearly tripped over the ball in his attempt to give the first kick off.

For all of his neutrality and rough posturing, Erik became somewhat of a different man around the children. The physical control he had over himself was reminiscent of the similarly tightly-wound mental facilities he possessed and it prevented him from accidentally striking or bowling over either child with which he played. In fact, he effortlessly made it seem as though he were truly terrible at soccer and time and again even Kurt was able to steal the ball from the tall man and run off with it, shrieking happily and sending it off into wild directions toward neither goal. Conversely, Pietro was equal parts quick and competitive. He held nothing back. He ran circles around all three of his fellow players, by far making the greatest number of scores.

It was more fun than Charles could remember having had in ages. Within only minutes of running his burning legs and tight chest informed him that he was out of shape for this particular breed of activity. A couple of hours a week spent running on a tread mill at the gym was nothing compared to a fully involved game of soccer, he reflected grimly. He laughed until his stomach ached when he lost his footing and fell on his arse, and looked up to find that all of his companions were laughing along with him. Amazingly, it was Erik who had the most unschooled expression when he truly allowed the humor to sink in; his grin was downright goofy, his brows screwed up unevenly and his wide mouth showing nearly every one of his teeth. It might have been unnerving if it wasn't so endearing.

Charles found himself watching the somewhat older man with even more interest than he had before. He was touched by how gentle Erik was with the children. At one point, Kurt might have taken a nasty fall if Erik had not gently caught the shoulder of his sweater and held it until he righted himself. Then Erik made a show of checking up to make sure that the stuffed monkey was not injured, before turning the both of them loose. It demonstrated what kind of a father he was when he was not huffing and puffing, ready to tear down anyone and anything that threatened his home life. Charles could not help but to find it devastatingly attractive, this more tender side of the brutish German man.

Bits and pieces still reached him via his own mutation, facts pertaining to both his patient and that patient's temperamental father. Ferrokinesis, or the ability to control magnetism and mold metal objects to do one's bidding, was a new one in Charles' experience. He was always thrilled and amazed by the different ways in which mutations would manifest themselves in people. They often had nothing to do with the mentality or attitude of those gifted with them. He or she would gain powers that rarely reflected his or her personality. They simply appeared with no rhyme or reason, regardless of social status or level of intelligence or skin color or religious following. Evolution was absolutely neutral about where it chose to make its adjustments.

Whether this particular type of mutation - this metal-bending - suited Erik remained to be seen. Thus far, he seemed resilient and strong, very stubborn, immovable when he did not want to be pushed. The rich and often ancient nature of metals forged within the earth could be seen as embodiment of just such a collections of traits. Charles was intrigued by the thought that he might get the chance to learn more about the man, and whether or not his son also carried the mutant gene.

Their past and what darkness might lay there waiting to be discovered became steadily of less import than who they were now, though of course the two were often inexorably linked. Charles knew all too well how a man's history can come back to haunt him and rip down whatever new palaces he might have tried to build out of the ashes of what was there before. He simply chose to focus on who Erik and Pietro were today. He stood in awe of their simplicity and the beauty of their obvious love for one another, simultaneously flawed and perfect as it was. Because for all their fighting and arguing and mutual bitterness, they did so clearly have love for one another. A weaker man might not have been capable of fathoming that level of devotion without breaking down his middle and falling to pieces under the weight of it. Charles wanted to help to remind them both of it again, to mend whatever rift their past had attempted to tear between father and son, so that they might stand together to bear the responsibility of that awesome emotion and nurture it, as it as meant to be. Charles was more set in his goal now to help them than he ever was before.


	13. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 13

Having fun had become less of a priority for Erik over the last few months, though he didn't quite realized just how long it had been until he was laughing and running alongside his son. He never was very good at letting go in any respect; his life had started out under stressful conditions and they hardly relaxed as he grew older. Both of his own parents were rather severe people who were forced to contend with an atmosphere where playfulness was less important than wariness and caution. They too were reared under the shadow of oppression. Germany had not known true peace in a great many years and its generations of citizens suffered as a result, even those who were not technically caught within an active war. At least, not an official one. Erik's parents protected him from a great deal, for as long as they could.

Shortly before he lost them both was when his powers manifested for the first time and he was thrust into a cold lonely world that wanted nothing to do with this mysterious demographic of people who were suddenly _his people_ , whether he wanted them to be his people or not. Mutants. It cut what was left of his childhood short and necessitated his independence, which exacerbated how severe a young person he already was. He became a control freak early on.

Not until Pietro came along did Erik begin to see what it was to be a child, the value of having that opportunity to be free and silly and careless. It was crucial. To never have a chance at knowing happiness was to accentuate the opposite side of that spectrum and doom one's self to fear and pain and suffering from the very start - just as Erik had done to himself. He did not want that for Pietro. Every effort was therefore made to try and find the part of himself that had been buried by the passage of so many days plagued by strife, by loss and fear and anger. He learned how to laugh for the mere sake of laughing, how to look ridiculous and not let it get to him. Only with his son did he feel that it was 'safe' to display traits that would have otherwise made him feel as though he were wasting time on meaningless whimsy. With Pietro, he felt the purpose behind frivolity.

As of late he had instigated less and less of these adventures in simple fun. Often when Erik took Pietro to the park, he would exploit the opportunity to go for a run on the cement path which lined the outer edge of the entire property. Even a trip that was meant to be for pure enjoyment would become a tool with which Lehnsherr would work to exercise his body and give himself that much more discipline. He had once again removed himself from what was basically needed, what was intended to be quality time. He could have blamed Pietro's distant behavior for it, but whose fault was it really? From where had Pietro gained his often aloof and derisive attitude?

The lighthearted feeling that they had been missing was reignited now as the four of them scattered across the soccer field. There was very little order to their actions at all. It wasn't anything like a real soccer game, nor any other form of organized sport. It was just physical activity for the sheer pleasure of physical activity. Erik chased after the children and allowed them to chase him, and even to catch him now and then. He was endlessly happy to have the fortuity to see his boy laughing for the first time in what felt like ages. All of this was thanks in part to Mr. Xavier, who looked as overcome with revelry as the rest of them were.

More than once, Erik thought he caught the guidance counselor watching him. It was always very fleeting, Xavier quick to dart his gaze away. But then Erik would throw himself back into the game until their play caused him to laugh or shout and he would feel that unmistakable tingling at the back of his neck and know that he was being observed. At first it made him extremely self-conscious. His pride was such that it was difficult for him to unwind within the view of strangers. He did not like to be laughed at or mocked in any way. When he was able to catch those blue eyes, however briefly, what he saw in them was not ridicule or dark humor of any kind. It was something quite different and far more interesting. It made him aware of himself not in the sense that he was embarrassed, but in the sense that he was in the presence of someone who he found to be attractive, who was also showing signs of being attracted to him.

Whether or not Xavier might be gay was a question that had entered Erik's thoughts before now. Of course, it didn't really matter either way. He was not looking to form attachments with anyone; with attachments came complication and confusion. He had not seriously entertained the idea of _dating_ for years, in fact. Not since Pietro was too young to realize what was going on. It was simply irresponsible of him to go off and flirt with any such anyone and not know who they were or what their intentions might be or whether they would be good for Pietro or how efficient they were at keeping secrets...assuming that Erik ever told them about his mutation. There simply existed too many factors that could turn out negatively. When he was young, he had flirted and had sex with whomever caught his eye, all sorts of people of both genders. Never once did he think about the consequences involved. The moment that Pietro was born, all of that changed. Having a son had altered Erik's mentality in regard to virtually every part of his life.

Even with all of these reservations well in mind, Erik could not deny that he enjoyed the attention from Xavier more than he probably should have.

"That was brilliant," Charles gushed, his cheeks a healthy shade of crimson from the mixture of exertion and chilly weather. They almost matched the near-constant red of his lips. "You're quite the sportsman, Pietro!"

It had been decided that the game was over and that the Lehnsherrs were incontestably the winners due in large part to the prowess of young Pietro. None of the others had come even close to scoring as many goals as he had done. Neither adult had been trying all that hard, of course, and Kurt could not be bothered to direct his enthusiastic kicking of the ball in any one direction - it was simply fun to wallop it as hard as he could and squeal as he chased after it. Nevertheless, Pietro did not seem to mind how easily he had gained victory. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Thanks!" said Pietro. He had a hold of the ball and was tossing it in the air. He used his forehead to smack it out into the field the way that he had seen soccer players do on TV in the past and he laughed when Kurt practically fell on top of it in his haste to catch it.

"It's too bad we don't offer soccer at Littleleaf. We do have other sports activities for after-school curriculum. Basketball, football, track..."

"I was in track at my old school."

"Is that right?" Xavier smiled gently. He and Erik had already had a conversation similar to this one wherein Erik had accurately guessed that the sport his son would be most interested in was track and of course, he was correct. The secret expression that Charles sent his way - and it was a playful, almost flirty kind of expression - alluded to this little inside joke that they were apparently sharing. Erik could not help but to smile right back; truly, this smallish man's good humor was infectious. Almost unnervingly so. "Well," continued Charles. "We shall have to see what we can do to get you on the team. Such talent cannot be allowed to go to waste."

Erik was intrigued once again, watching this progress from a flippant compliment to a more serious suggestion. It was obvious to him that Pietro was being gently manipulated by his guidance counselor and yet the child himself seemed blissfully unaware that he was being led at all. Any time that Erik attempted to use reverse psychology or any other basic form of mental maneuvers it always seemed as though Pietro picked up on it instantly and his resentment would couple with the state of anger that he seemed constantly ensconced in, and any attempt made by Erik to work with him beyond that was stubbornly and completely undone. It might have had to do with the source, the fact that it was Xavier who was doing the pushing and not Erik. The two men could not be more different. Xavier had an approachability to him that made a person not mind so much that they were being tugged along like a puppet on a string. It made Erik wonder why he was not more successful as a psychologist, with a more lucrative career than that of a school counselor. Perhaps he would have the chance to ask him.

"I think a bit of pizza and ice cream is in order after burning off all of that energy." Xavier had barely finished the recommendation when he was all but tackled by an enlivened six-year-old who was _very_ supportive of anything involving those two particular foods. With a laugh, his uncle ruffed up his black hair and then turned his attention to Erik. "You will join us, won't you? There's a pizza restaurant not far from here. My treat..."

"I-" Erik was shocked at how much he wanted to say yes. His original plan had been to simply greet the man who would be having weekly sessions with his son, learn what he could and then walk away. At no point had it entailed full contact sports and going out for an early dinner. It was a mystery to him how all of this had managed to escalate so quickly into territory that he would not have normally ventured anywhere near with a stranger. He was caught completely off guard by the invitation and by the hopeful way that Xavier was looking at him. Even Pietro had been won over to the Englishman's side and was bouncing up and down in place chanting "pleaseohpleaseohpleasedadlet'sgopleeeease." It had been far too long since the last time he had seen Pietro this excited. His usual brand of protests were utterly disarmed by it.

"Charles!" A woman's voice broke into the awkwardly lengthening silence that had begun to stretch and stretch between Xavier's offer and the stuttering bunch of nothing that Erik was giving in reply. She walked toward them and waved as she came from what was evidently the parking lot. Her face was young - perhaps the same age range as Xavier - and pretty, framed by long blonde hair that managed to toe the line between artfully tousled and perfectly coiffed. Immediately she projected the image of a woman who was very much in control of herself physically and she did not seem winded at all by the long walk from her car to the middle of the field where the men and boys were standing, despite the considerable height of her boot heels.

"Mama!" Kurt was off like a bullet. Within seconds he had been gathered up into the woman's arms and she carried him on her hips with the ease of a person who had done it for years. He babbled on and on about what had transpired throughout his day, his sole audience registering her wonder and awe, though her eyes repeatedly darted toward Erik.

"You're early." Charles exchanged a brotherly kiss with the woman.

"Dr. Payne cancelled. I saw the note you left in your apartment about coming here. Honestly, Charles, you _do_ have a cellular phone. It can leave the house with you now and then."

Based upon the slightly bickering interaction between the two, Erik surmised that this was the sister that he had heard about. It was perplexing; the two siblings looked absolutely nothing like each other in any way. Even their accents sounded a little different, hers much more faint and flat. He also couldn't help but to note that the woman was attractive, almost overwhelmingly so. It was a different brand of attractiveness from that which her brother had. There was an air of unflinching perfection around her that spoke of an individual who worked very hard to maintain her appearance and how she was received by other people. It smelled false to Erik. He wasn't certain whether he liked it or not, but the two people in front of him _were_ both easy on the eyes.

"Erik, Pietro, this is my sister, Raven." As ever, Xavier was all friendliness. At some point he had switched from the more respectful title of _Mr. Lehnsherr_ to referring to Erik by his first name. When exactly that had begun to occur, the German-born man was not certain. It was one more thing about which he was slightly undecided as far as his level of approval. The spell that Erik seemed to have been under was lifted somehow by the arrival of the woman - Raven. He could look at the situation with more clarity now that a completely unknown entity had become involved. Oblivious, Charles went on: "We were just discussing possibly going for a bite to eat."

"Pietro and I had better be getting home, I should think." Erik was put a bit off balance by the events of the day. He had become far too drawn to the younger man and his own innately cautious instincts had started to suffer as a result. It was dangerous to let go too much - dangerous to become attached. "Nice to meet you," he said to the woman with an expression that was intended to be polite.

"It was _very_ lovely to meet you, too, Erik." The tone of Raven's voice was odd, very coy and heavily inflected with some meaning that was not readily apparent. She smiled sweetly at him before he turned and herded Pietro off of the field toward their vehicle.


	14. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 14

"Who was _that_?" Raven could hardly contain her curiosity long enough for Erik to even move out of earshot.

Charles knew well the tone that she was using. It often preceded a line of questioning - _grilling_ would be a more accurate word for it - related to a male figure who had entered his life. The last time that he had been subjected to it was several months ago, since he made a point of keeping Raven as far away from his own personal affairs as was possible. She had very little patience for using tact when it came to emotional or social situations, as evidenced by the way that she was already starting in about Lehnsherr when the man had only barely reached the parking lot.

"I told you their names. Pietro is one of the students that I've been trying to help, and Erik is his father."

"I see."

"Don't." Charles had hoped that the shorthand answer to her question and the deadpan way that he had delivered it might dissuade his sister's curiosity, but he could practically _feel_ the followup questions that were coming and the judgement that would accompany them. Just as she could no doubt feel when her brother was on the trail of an attractive man that he very much wanted to tear the clothes from each and every time that he had seen him so far. Charles happened to think that he was doing a good job of suppressing those urges, even if he was rubbish at hiding them completely.

Raven gaped, the picture of innocence. "What?! I said nothing."

"It's the way you look. You're looking very...smug. I can tell-"

"I _never_ look smug!" Raven batted her thick eyelashes for an added effect to the flamboyant way that she spoke those four extremely false words.

Charles couldn't help but to laugh despite his failed attempt at remaining serious. They both knew perfectly well that the metamorphic mutant known as Raven Xavier was competitive, arrogant and prone to fits of complacence that were so unflinching that they might have bordered on being dangerous to her health. Having Kurt had cooled her heels, but only a little bit. She now tried to pretend that she was not up to something, and it was so exaggerated and fake that it had them both chuckling as they began to clean up the small mess left behind by the soccer game. "I can tell what you're getting at."

"You promised never to read my mind," she shot back, finally lowering her voice lest they were overheard.

"I don't have to! I know you."

"Is he single?" Since she had been found out so early on in the game, Raven opted for the completely direct approach rather than continuing to dance around what she wanted to know. This was a rare treat for her; Charles jealously guarded his personal life and she had almost never lain eyes on a man that her brother was looking to score with. In her opinion, Charles was too gentle-hearted for this cruel shit-storm of a world that they were living in. Any other kind of man with his telepathic abilities would have used them to conquer everything and everyone around him by now. He would have had people like Erik Lehnsherr kneeling at his feet day and night. But her kind and thoughtful sibling was not like other men at all. He was content to scratch a meager living as a school teacher of all things, and to suffer alone in his messy apartment rather than actively search for happiness. It drove her a little crazy.

"I have no idea," said Charles flippantly.

Raven gave him a look. They both knew good and damn well that that was a bald-faced lie. Whether Charles pretended to have perfect self-control or not, certain bits and pieces of information were allowed to slip 'accidentally' through his mental shields and it was extremely likely that Erik Lehnsherr's marital status was one of those things. She smiled brilliantly when she noticed that the German man's coat was still lying on the field in the same spot where it had been rolled up as a designated marker for the soccer goal. "Oh, look! He left his jacket. He'll be needing that back very soon. Wouldn't want him to get cold..."

"Mama, we gonna get ice cream?" Kurt had finally grown tired of whacking the soccer ball all over the immediate area. He brought it up to his mother and proceeded to share the chunks of grass and mud that it had accumulated by inadvertently smearing the mess all over her cream-colored pants. The bit of filth was unnoticed, Kurt soon scooped up and hugged fiercely as he was carried back to where his mother and uncle had parked their cars. It was decided that yes, they would go and have their lunch of pizza and ice cream. Whether or not _Uncoo Chuck_ would be joining them was another matter.

Charles was torn about the issue of the clothing that Erik had forgotten. The Lehnsherrs were long gone and he had no phone numbers on hand for them. He carried the coat dutifully toward his Gremlin, not at all surprised to find that Raven had parked right next to it. This would not be the last that he would hear from her about his 'new friend,' he suspected, and thinking of the future lines of questioning was making his head hurt. Suddenly he no longer had any taste for lunch at all and certainly not with a woman who would turn every moment of it into a by-proxy interview. Part of Charles was half suspicious that she herself was interested in Erik, after only a few words passed between them. This inkling feeling was further solidified when she called over the roof of his car, extremely noisily: "Is he gay?"

"For god's sake, Raven!" Charles didn't know whether to laugh or to become genuinely angry. "You have no shame!"

"No, I haven't. And you have no balls."

"I have more balls than you, darling."

"Maybe...but if I knew a guy like that, I'd ask him which team he plays for."

Charles smiled sweetly. "Well, with you it doesn't matter, does it?"

Raven's eyes narrowed a fraction, a nerve struck. She was not known to change her gender very often during the instances where her physicality was altered, and even more rarely did she then seek to romantically involve herself with another person while shifted. But it _had_ happened. And it had ended almost as badly for her as the relationships that Charles had suffered through. Talking about it was not high on her list of things that she ever wanted to do again, so she took the jab from her brother to mean that he too was becoming fed up with the flow of conversation. It wasn't often that Charles threw off the scent by giving insults. What resulted was a tense stalemate between them.

The young guidance counselor deflated somewhat. He tossed his belongings (and now Erik's) into his car. "I'm sorry. Look... I need to try and find this...Scarlet Woman. For Pietro. I think it will help me connect with him during our sessions."

"Scarlet Witch," Raven corrected. "It's a good series."

"You...read comics?" Charles was surprised.

Now that it was made obvious that no further questions would be allowed, the blonde-looking woman that Raven's form had taken for the day was visibly a bit bored and put off. She sighed. Kurt was already waiting for her in his booster in the back seat of her sedan. "Yes. I read comics, Charles. I also like to eat. Are you coming with us to lunch, or not?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. Do you think you could get your hands on a copy for me?"

"A copy of what? The new issue of Scarlet Witch? It doesn't come out for like...a month."

"But you would know whom to contact for getting a copy early? For your dear brother, who loves you very much..." Charles hoped that by putting on his most winning smile he might coax his annoyed sibling into coming around and letting herself be wooed into helping him. It did surprise him that she read comics, but he supposed that it shouldn't have; that sort of thing suited her, as she was the type of person to seek out forms of entertainment which promised quick gratification. It was not that she was not intelligent. More, it was that she chose to ignore that intellectual part of herself in favor of exciting physical and visual types of stimulation.

That smile of Charles' was too infectious even for the likes of Raven, who had seen it so many countless times before when it was inflicted upon both herself and others that it was a wonder it still had any effect on her whatsoever. Her smile in response was sardonic, but it too was recognizable as an expression often given right before she was about to agree to whatever harebrained idea her sibling was pulling her into. "Maybe."

"Wonderful! Call me with the details. Money won't be a problem... And thank you, Raven."

The weather was becoming more chilly as the day waned into late afternoon. It made Charles shiver where he was standing next to the Gremlin. It also caused him to wonder whether Mister Lehnsherr was aware that he had left his coat behind, whether he was cold without it and whether he expected to have it back. Maybe he would assume that Charles would leave it at the park. Really, that was not necessarily a bad idea. As long as he was in possession of the German man's clothing, it would necessitate his finding a way to give it back, and it would fill his head with a wide variety of ideas as to how he could do so, what measures he was willing to take. Giving it to Pietro the next time he saw the boy in school was the most innocent and likely option. But did Charles want to vie for the 'safe' route? Or did he have a taste for something more direct?

"Yeah, yeah," said Raven, waving off his gratitude. "You keep me posted on your new _squeeze_ , and I'll see what I can do about the comic." Since Kurt was hollering at his mother from where he was perched in the back seat, she decided it was time to go and she climbed in and started up her engine. Before leaving the parking lot, she was sure to flutter her fingers at Charles and smile at him with the same insufferable smugness that she had been accused of only moments ago.


	15. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 15

Pietro was not pleased when his father decided to take a rain check on their all but planned-out lunch with Mr. Xavier and young Kurt. All of the upbeat playfulness that had been cultivated during their game of soccer winked out like sunlight obscured by sudden rain clouds, and he was back to his determined sulking. Back to the somber mood of a child who was exhibiting the salty traits of puberty far too early for anyone's liking. Seeing it again frustrated Erik. It did a job on his own good mood and would have ruined it entirely, if an idea had not occurred to him about how he could turn the tide in his favor once again. He navigated the old truck a bit further from town and took to the highway. When Pietro asked where they were going, he only smiled.

It was not until Erik exited the truck again that he realized his jacket was missing and it gave him a moment's pause. It was not anywhere in their vehicle, he concluded after a cursory search. He must have left it behind at the Action Park with Xavier and the strange woman. Having been so uncharacteristically flustered by the effect that the young guidance counselor had had on him, it was little wonder that his usual ability to remain keenly aware of his surroundings - and what he was wearing - had abandoned him and caused him to leave the jacket in the grass. He could have bitten the bullet and just gone back to get it right at that very moment. This was assuming that someone else had not yet helped themselves to a new article of clothing, and also assuming that Xavier had not taken it upon himself to hold onto it out of a desire to do the chivalrous thing and give it back the next time they saw each other. Erik was not yet certain which scenario he preferred.

Pietro lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw the sign above the building where his father had taken him. It was the city's largest animal shelter, its logo enhanced by a painting of a dog and a cat, both holding artistically rendered hearts in their paws. Perhaps it was meant to represent the selfless love of the beasts housed inside the building, or perhaps it represented the hopes of its staff members that there would be people willing to foster the lost creatures with the generosity in _their_ hearts. Whatever the case, Erik found it sufficiently charming. He was far more pleased by the grin of anticipation plastered all over his son's face. It had been a while since the boy had looked at Erik like that - like he was the best dad in the world - and it was a sorely missed expression.

Within the hour, the two Lehnsherrs emerged from the noisy, unfortunately fragrant shelter to the comparatively cleaner air outside. In Pietro's arms was a crate large enough to accommodate a fully grown cat, but it was the somewhat frightened mewing of a kitten that issued from inside. They had managed to arrive just before closing time and now it looked as though the night was creeping up on them earlier than Erik had expected. A sure sign that winter was well on its way, this shortening of the days. Erik could feel the chill climbing up the skin of his thinly-veiled arms even as he walked, reminding him yet again that he probably should have gone back to fetch his jacket from the field where Pietro had beaten them all at the ball game earlier in the day.

 _Perhaps Mister Xavier found it_ , he thought again.

The man was uncommonly friendly, thoughtful, observant. Images of him playfully chasing after the two children were still making the rounds in Erik's head the entire time that he was supposed to be focused on signing paperwork for the adoption of the young cat. He wondered when it had become so complicated to take in what amounted to a glorified stray. The shelter officials asked him for a donation and he complied without a fuss, but he was so distracted by his recent memories that he nearly signed the wrong name at the bottom of the page filled with the the shockingly extensive amount of information for which they had asked. He almost signed it, Erik Eisenhardt. For six years he had been using the name Lehnsherr, and it had become legally (for the most part) added to every piece of official identification that he owned. For all intents and purposes, it was now as much his name as had been the one that he was born with. The name of Eisenhardt belonged to a wanted man, a dead man, and he would never be able to use it again. He knew this perfectly well, had become accustomed to it long ago, yet all of his self-conditioning and careful training had flown right out of his head after one afternoon of horsing around at a park.

Erik reflected on his own carelessness during the drive home. What he was close to obsessing over was nothing. He barely knew Xavier. He had only lay eyes on him a grand total of three times. Such brevity might be expected to inspire mild interest, maybe even attraction, but not this steadily increasing fascination with a man who was virtually a stranger. It was as unreasonable as it was inconvenient. The fact that he was secretly hoping for an excuse to see the other man again (an excuse such as the possibility that Xavier had something of his and might want to return it in person), made him somewhat uncomfortable. People did not get under his skin this way and certainly not so _quickly_. He wanted to dislike the Englishman, a man who held the bearing of someone who had come from money and was privileged and probably only worked as a school teacher out of boredom as a hobby. This was to say nothing of the fact that Xavier was a psychologist, someone whose profession revolved around his ability to manipulate people and dig his way into their heads. Everything about him should have added up to the kind of person that Erik hated, and yet...

"Can I take him out of the crate?" Pietro asked of his new pet. He was beaming almost constantly, his fingers already poised around the latch that would unlock the wire mesh door of the small cage.

"Ja. Just don't let it jump on my face while I am driving."

"It's a _he_ , Dad. His name is Felix." Happily, Pietro opened the crate and fished Felix out into the wide world that was the inside of the truck's cab. Luckily for all of them, the small creature did not immediately lose its mind with fear and attempt to gouge out anyone's eyes. Instead it huddled its small black and white body to the boy's chest, as though aware that its fate would be in his hands. The incessant mewing ceased as it found comfort in being held.

"Felix, is it? Well, I will expect you to be in charge of Felix's welfare. I have done my part... Those people now know more about me than the American government." Erik snorted quietly, still stuck on the sheer amount of paperwork involved in acquiring a cat.

Pietro was nonplussed. He giggled when the kitten became secure enough to begin swatting playfully at the draw string on his hooded sweater. "Maybe they wanna make sure Felix went to a good home, and that we're not...like...murderers or something."

"Maybe so," said Erik. He became quiet after that.

It was truly dark by the time they had finished shopping for the animal's basic needs such as food and a litter box and dishes and a collar and the like. Erik let them into their home with a lighter wallet and a happier son than he had left with that morning. The two equalized quite well; he would sacrifice a great deal to make Pietro happy. If that was to be considered spoiling the child, then so be it. They were chatting together and having a laugh and this made up for all else. He watched Pietro 'introducing' the cat to the various rooms in the house and he smiled to himself, absently making his way toward the sitting room. He had collected the mail from the box out front. He was flipping through the various bills and fliers and junk as he passed their phone and its answering machine. The light was blinking, so he tapped the playback button before continuing on his way to the kitchen. The instant that a woman's voice could be heard to echo through the entire house, a voice that Erik hoped he would never have to hear again, he dropped every envelope and newspaper in his hands and made a beeline to retrace his steps back to the machine.

"Hellooo! It's Mommy... I am going to be passing through the city very soon, and I was hoping to catch you boys so that we could set up-"

Erik used both his mutation and his actual physical hand to hastily slam down the button that would stop _her_ voice from broadcasting out loud where Pietro could hear it, but he already knew that he was too late. Well before he saw his son standing in the doorway that led to his bedroom, a look of excitement slowly dying from his young features, he knew that Pietro had heard his mother's message and there was no way to prevent him from knowing that she was apparently going to be in the area. More than that, the younger Lehnsherr now knew that his father had _tried_ to stop him from finding out, and they stood staring at one another for several long, pregnant seconds as that information was absorbed.

"That was Mom," said Pietro. When no reply came, his jaw tightened and he clutched the purring kitten a little closer to himself, as though seeking mutual comfort from it. "If she's gonna be in town, I wanna see her."

Erik opened his mouth, closed it again. How was he supposed to make Pietro see that his mother was not truly interested in seeing him, to tell him the truth, without hurting him in the process? She had never really wanted anything to do with him. When she had found success for herself and wanted to flaunt it, or when she wanted to impress her parents or a new fiancee, she would lead her son around like a prized pony and lavish him with attention and praise and fill him up with the false doppelgänger of the real love that he desperately craved from her. At times, she only appeared long enough to ask Erik for money. Then the fickle winds of her life would sweep her up on their invisible influence and carry her away to the next bit of entertainment, and she would not so much as return Pietro's calls for months on end. And now she had a mind to put him through that ordeal all over again. Erik wanted to be furious, to lash out. He wanted to track her down and tell her never to make another appearance in their lives again, not if she did not intend to remain long enough for Pietro to see what she really was. But he could not express his fury at the very child that he wanted to protect. Instead, he settled for a simple refusal, fully expecting a vehement backlash in response and ready to shoulder it. "I don't think that is a good idea."

The anger and hurt flooded Pietro's fair face and made him look like a boiled crustacean turned red by the heat of pure emotion. "Why not?!"

"Pietro, you don't understand-"

"I get it! I get it fine! You hate her, and you took me away from her, and want me to hate her! But I don't hate her... I hate YOU!' Tears had already flooded Pietro's eyes and were spilling down his face. He turned away and stomped into his room and slammed the door behind him.

Fatigue leeched into Erik's body bit by bit until he could feel it infecting his bone marrow, the innards of his brain and heart, his very cellular structures. It was like a parasite that was feeding on the most vital parts of him and gradually sucking the life out of them. Just when he had thought that finally, _finally_ he was making a fraction of progress with his son, it was all torn down in a matter of seconds. Magda had once again materialized in their lives only long enough to ruin any sense of security. Her abilities to destroy the hope rekindled by new growth was as much a blight on their existence as a plague of locusts would have been to the success of a struggling farmer fighting to save his crops and his future. Just when a bit of yield was shining the light of promise down upon his fields, a single ravenous insect would appear as an ominous precursor to the havoc that was to come. In a sudden fit of rage, Erik snatched the answering machine off its table and ripped the cord viciously from the wall. He very much wanted a drink.


	16. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 16

For Charles, the two days following his unexpected rendezvous at the park with Mister Lehnsherr were spent pointedly working to _forget_ that experience. Or, more specifically, to forget the lingering feelings that were conjured by the events of that day. It had felt good to spend an afternoon simply being silly and seeing a normally reserved man, such as Erik seemed to be, let go and allow himself to be silly as well. From what little information Charles had gained from his brief intrusions into the man's mind he had learned that it was rare for Erik to display a side of himself that was not severe and serious. It seemed a shame; Erik could be quite a lot of fun when he lowered his carefully-cultivated shields. But his enjoyment of it was precisely what Charles wanted to forget...

He did not want to think about how good the other man was with the children, nor that slightly unnerving quality to his smile when it slashed across the entire lower half of his face and seemed to show every last one of his teeth. Worst of all would be to reflect upon the way Erik's casual clothing fit his tall, lanky body. Or the size of his hands, which matched the rest of Erik in that they were long-fingered yet clearly strong. Once or twice during the soccer match, Charles had felt the whisper of those fingers across his skin during a moment when the two men were mock-fighting to get the ball away from each other. They had left streaks of warm static electricity in their wake. It sounded extremely corny in his head when he thought of it that way, but that was the truth of it. Each time the two of them had drawn near it was like a positive electrode and a negative electrode sending pure energy through each other. Part of that energy had to do with Charles' mutation, as he had found himself to be quickly enamored with Erik's thoughts.

The ridiculous attacks of memory caused by his new crush (which could be called nothing else at this point) would periodically assault Charles' mind from out of nowhere and steal from him any chance of keeping a hold on his concentration. Monday was incredibly busy for him what with the new "gifted class" that he had been asked to supervise, and which he had not yet set up properly, and the addition of two more students in need of his counseling. Still, his brain managed to undermine all of the important tasks he had to get finished by taking him back to the scent of grass freshly crushed beneath his shoes and the sound of Pietro's rather startling belly laugh. He still had the jacket left behind by Mister Lehnsherr and he woke up on Monday morning telling himself that he would give it to Pietro as soon as he lay eyes on him in the halls at work. He even put it in his car with this express intent. It remained there on the passenger seat of the Gremlin for the duration of the day. So it was the same for Tuesday.

Somehow it was not until Wednesday that Charles actively sought to cross paths with Pietro again. He told himself that it was not because the boy was avoiding him, and certainly not because he was, in fact, avoiding the younger Lehnsherr. The only thing that might cause him to actively hide in his office and prevent any instance where the two of them bumped into each other would be that he was as yet unwilling to relinquish the lost article of clothing to its owner's son, thereby also sacrificing the potential for another meeting with Erik. That would be ridiculous and childish and unprofessional of him to do. No, the reason that Charles had not seen Pietro at all was because he was very, very busy.

Coach Worthington was unfortunately the man in charge of track meets and tryouts. For all of his prejudices and social ineptitude, he was surprisingly gifted as a coach and had never received a complaint against him for mistreating the children. He seemed to somehow subconsciously sense in Charles that there was a facet of The Englishman's personality or status as a human being that he would not agree with, should he become privy to it, and as such he always treated Charles a little too politely. It bordered on mocking. Being the highly persuasive person that he was, Xavier still managed to secure Pietro a chance at trying out for the track team. They had a few weeks remaining before winter was truly upon them and the season for outdoor sports was mostly over, which should ideally give the boy time enough to train for at least one of the planned races. If he made a name for himself on the team, his position would be secured for next year. It would give him something to look forward to.

Charles began to feel as though he were taking steps to actually affect a positive change in Pietro's life. A very small, subtle sort of change to be sure, but it was a start. He had gone out to the large track that Littleleaf had on its grounds in order to speak with Coach Worthington, and he returned to the main building with a bit more spring in his step. This time as he navigated the corridors, he searched intentionally for the young man with the silver streaks in his hair so that he could tell him the good news. It had just struck lunch time and students were beginning to file out of their rooms. Their young minds were abuzz with anticipation for what they would eat and whom they would sit next to and other such trivial things that were, of course, extremely important to their still-developing sense of priorities. It was nearly impossible for even a gifted telepath to weed through all of them and search for one specific mind.

"Moira!" Charles fought to concentrate, his telepathy zeroing in on the math teacher as she was leading her brood out through the doorway of her classroom. In her he had often found solace from the endless throng of mental nuance being bombarded onto him; her thoughts were calculated and sarcastic, but calm. He sensed a quiet joy when she met his gaze and faintly smiled. There was a sense of loneliness in her that often prevented her happy expressions from fully reaching her dark eyes and this always troubled him. It never quite made sense to Charles, why she frequently turned down any advances sent her way by the other men who had seen in her the wonderful woman who had become his friend. He could only hope that it wasn't his own fault. As arrogant as it was to humor the notion that McTaggert was holding out for him, he couldn't help but worry that that was exactly the case. That she still fancied him even though he had - gently - corrected her in the past in regard to his own sexuality.

"Hullo!" She waved, carefully navigating her way through shouting children so they could speak without raising their own voices.

"Have you seen Pietro Lehnsherr?"

A crease formed between her eyebrows. "Umm... I think I saw him this morning on his way to Language Arts. Is he one of yours?" she asked, meaning was Pietro having sessions with the guidance counselor.

"Well, yes. That's not why I was looking for him, though."

"Is it because of his dad? Why you're having sessions with him, I mean..." Moira had dropped her voice to a near-whisper, able to do so since the hallway around them was now more or less empty. The students always moved with a higher level of speed when their destination was the lunchroom or the playgrounds.

Charles tilted his head, intrigued. "You know I can't tell you that, Moira. But, for the sake of curiosity...why do you ask? Do you know E-... Mister Lehnsherr?" He corrected himself before it was too late. Being on a first-name-basis with the father of a student might come off as strange, even suspect. Or maybe Charles was just being paranoid. He had spent what felt like ages now convincing himself that he was absolutely not attracted to, or interested in, Erik Lehnsherr. Vehemently attempting to convince other people of the same thing was merely a by-product of that.

"Well, no one _knows_ him. I mean, he's... We've all seen him around. He's pretty...noticeable." Moira seemed relieved when Charles laughed at this comment. Perhaps she, too, was worried about other people getting the wrong idea after her indirect compliment of the German man's looks. "Maybe it's because they're new to the area, but no one has really been able to talk to him. Not even West."

Mrs. West was Pietro's homeroom teacher and not the most friendly of people. Her ideals and mannerisms would have better suited a correctional institution of some kind rather than an elementary school, but she had been with Littleleaf for more than a decade and was respected well enough within the small community. It did not particularly surprise Charles that the woman was not successful in bringing Lehnseherr out of his shell. Charles himself had certainly had a hard time of it. Indeed, his conversations with Mrs. West about young Pietro were almost equally fruitless, as she seemed to believe that what Pietro needed was discipline, of the corporal punishment variety if needed. It had prompted Xavier to warn her against taking the matter into her own hands and seeking to inflict physical punishment on the younger Lehnsherr, and he was grateful that he had done so; he could only imagine how someone like Erik would react if a teacher had the gall to strike his son. It did not bear thinking about.

"Of course, as we all know, West is all sunshine and flower petals. Can't imagine _anyone_ not getting along with _her_." In the absence of fellow staff members or students to overhear them, Moira's natural sardonic tendencies returned in all of their deadpan glory. She shared another brief chuckle with Charles and threaded her arm through his as they began to walk together. It was lunch time for them as well as for the children. It didn't seem to bother her that the guidance counselor was not interested in women. She still sought to display a kind of possessiveness over him as her 'best friend' that came off as endearing. "I dunno. He just seems...very serious." What she had _wanted_ to say, was that Lehnsherr seemed like a complete sociopathic asshole. But that was too blunt even for her - at least while they were still on the clock.

"He is that," Charles conceded.

Moira wore an expression of surprise, and appeared as though she were on the verge of smiling. "You sound like you might know him better than I do."

"I... Well, I'm having sessions with his son so yes, we have...exchanged words. Professionally."

"I see."

Charles gave her a look not unlike the look he had thrown at his sister when her tone of voice had been similar to the one that Moira was affecting now. The last thing that he needed was another person insinuating things that were completely untrue. "That's all there is to it. Anything else would be completely out of line and against protocol, and would probably break a good many rules besides. There is nothing else and there won't be anything else. I simply want to help Pietro. That's all."

"I didn't say anything, Charles." MacTaggert was biting her messily-painted lower lip in an obvious effort not to laugh. The sadness still lingered in her eyes, and behind that Charles could sense that she was disappointed at the suspicions she was having. It felt like witnessing someone lose whatever hope they had left for a certain outcome. She did shoulder it well, and a part of her even seemed a little relieved to know that she no longer had reason to pine after someone that she had never had a real chance with in the first place.

It was a complicated array of emotions that stole from Xavier whatever response he might have had. He did not mean to pry into her thought processes, it just sort of happened. Sometimes things filtered into his head whether he wanted them to or not. When he could feel a warmth that spoke of happiness radiating from her, he was given reason to admire her that much more. She was choosing to be happy for her friend rather than sore that he had found someone. Or, so she thought. After a moment or two, she continued: "Though... I will say that I'm pretty sure you're not breaking any rules, if there _was_ something more between you. I mean, it's not like we're some fancy psychiatric institute or upper-crust private school. We're working-class. Nobody gives a damn."

"There is no reason to look into it any further. There is nothing between Erik..." Charles flinched at the slip-up. "...between Mister Lehnsherr and I."

This time, Moira _did_ laugh. "OK, Charles."


	17. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 17

The entire week that followed Magda's call was a living hell for the Lehnsherr household. Father and son had existed in a peculiar fog of passive-aggressive silence up until this point; occasionally, it was sliced by a ray of light in the form of the odd conversation between them. More and more often, before that fateful call, Erik had seen evidence of the haze clearing up and his relationship with his boy finally beginning to return to what it once was. The progress was so minute and so slow to advance that it gave the impression that no change was occurring at all, yet Erik was able to see it. Regaining the connection that they had once shared seemed so very close to being within his grasp…and then it was all shattered in a matter of seconds by a single message on an answering machine. All the time and effort Erik had put into bringing Pietro around had been thwarted completely and they were cast back into the figurative fog and lost within it, seemingly never to escape again.

The only living member of the household that seemed to be enjoying himself at all was the kitten. Pietro's love and care for the small creature was matched only by his venomous derision for his father. They played together endlessly whenever Pietro was home, his laughter echoing through the house right up until he would notice Erik listening and all manner of mirth would die instantly. The blatant disregard for their once close relationship was slicing thick portions out of Erik's already frayed nerves. But more than that, the cold shoulder his son was giving him was hurtful. He knew that it was borne of a belief Pietro had that his Erik was deliberately keeping him from his mother out of some kind of malicious desire to cause him pain. And that simply was not true.

Erik was forced to ask for yet another day off from work that following Wednesday so that he could meet with Magda. Her calls were studiously screened and ignored for as long as he could manage to thwart them, lest they cause even more trouble, until she tricked he and his recently-replaced caller ID by using a new number to get through. Part of him had suspected that it was her even before he had picked up the receiver, as he certainly did not know many other people who would disturb him after work on a Tuesday night.

As was so often the case with Magda over the years, Erik allowed himself to be roped into a conversation, and then somehow he was convinced to come and have coffee with her the next day under the pretense of 'working things out' in regard to her visit. He had no idea what that was supposed to entail. Any other time he had humored her little whims, he had come to regret the decision. When she subtly threatened to make things very difficult for him with the local police, he relented and they made plans to rendezvous.

Here he sat in the least pretentious coffee shop that he could find in the city. It was no small feat to find such a place when the more commercially-accepted establishments seemed to be popping up on every corner, and all the locally-owned places would soon buckle under the pressure of the heavy shadow of these retail giants. The same could be said for grocery stores, restaurants and gas stations just like the one that Erik's company was in the process of constructing. He hated being a part of the capitalism that he saw as a steady, resilient cancer growing in the bosom of working class America. People like him had little choice in the matter, not when that was where the decent money was coming from.

He sat at a tall table in a quaint little café and watched legions of shoppers gravitate across the street to where a bigger name sold the same products at a reduced price, and he felt like a hypocrite. He was feeding the corporate demon by working where he worked, and he was not even making any real profit. His truck was a piece of shit, his home had more problems now than when he had moved in. His son hated him. Everything felt rather pointless, all of a sudden. Not that the inherent futility of his plight made any difference; he would continue to fight and dig and crawl his way forward and upward until he finally made headway…or until it killed him. That was life.

These rather pessimistic views were hanging over Erik's head when he finally spotted Magda. She looked as pristine as always, her clothes clean and pressed, her auburn hair done into the latest style. Even from the distance of an entire café, Erik could see the gold and gems of her jewelry catch the light and sparkle where they lay across her throat and wrists. He caught a whiff of her perfume and instead of finding it pleasant, it turned his stomach. Over the years any attraction he might have once had for her had been tormented and mangled into a mockery of its origin. Now that he had learned who she truly was, and how indifferent she could be even when it came to her own child, he was amazed that he ever found her appealing in the first place. Even so, he _could_ see a certain attractive quality that might be used to lure others in to her trap.

"Hallo!" said Magda. She was all smiles as she smoothed down her dress and took the seat across from Erik.

Erik was of a mind to get right to the point: "What do you want?"

"Well, I do not yet know… I have not looked at the menu. What is good here?" Her smile was a little too bright. It served her well as a shield against Erik's sharp edges. So too did the lunch menu that she lifted from his side of the table to peruse, carefully positioning it between their faces.

"That's not what I meant."

"Anything to drink?" A waiter stopped by to ask. He was one of the few working in the café, yet business was slow enough that he could be attentive and polite.

Before Magda could answer, Erik cut in again. "She's not staying. And neither am I. Bring the check, then make yourself scarce."

"Just as charming as you always were, I see," Magda drawled as the confused waiter scurried off. Since it did not look as though she would be given a chance to order, she folded the menu and slapped it down on the table between them. It wasn't anger that she projected so much as a world-weariness. Like a woman who has adapted well to the unruly behavior of her companion.

"If it is charm you want, you are talking to the wrong man. I know what you are. Play your games with someone who doesn't."

"No games. I just want to see my son, Erik."

"Why?"

Magda looked affronted, the carefully-painted nails of her hand moving to splay across her breast. " _Why_ do I want to see _my_ son?"

"Yes. Why? What do you want?"

"I just miss his sweet little face. I missed you, too, until a moment ago-"

Erik struck the surface of the table hard enough to send silence cascading across the entire restaurant. He stared into the mask that this woman portrayed, with its soulful brown eyes beginning to well with false tears and its mouth slightly open in shock, and he felt like storming into the chilly air beyond these suddenly too-close walls. Rather than lashing out or raising his voice, he lowered it to a volume that was deadly serious. "That's enough. Tell me what you are up to, or you will never see him again."

The quiet that embraced them slowly lifted its influence. Various pairs of eyes drifted away from their table. Their fellow patrons began to speak again in hushed tones, as though they were afraid of missing any juicy detail of the fight apparently going on in the corner between the two German natives. A dirty look or three was thrown Erik's way for the treatment that he was showing his 'date,' but he ignored them; they didn't _know_. To them, Magda was just a beautiful woman cowering in fear of an emotionally abusive boyfriend or husband. If only they were aware that she was in fact a coiled snake preparing to strike and inject venom into a world that was just beginning to regain happiness without her presence hanging over it.

"You cannot keep him from me. Not with what I know about you." There it was, the snake. It appeared with a flash of green in her eyes as she leaned forward and the sunlight filtered through the two irises. A tiny smile tugged at her painted lips and she sat back in her chair in a leisurely position, a gambler who knows they have the winning hand. "My parents are coming into the country. They want to see their grandson. I am going to ask Papa for an investment…so I need him to know that the money will be going to a good place. I can throw you a scrap or two, if you like-"

"We don't need your money," Erik growled. He hated this. For all that he had sworn to protect Pietro and keep him away from the mother he loved, for fear that she would hurt him, now he was yet again faced with a situation in which he was stuck. His past was haunting him, personified by the woman who had given him his future. He virtually vibrated with anger as he sat helplessly in the café watching Magda play her cards. The still-wrapped silverware near his fingers tinkled softly under the magnetic influence of his emotional state. Light fixtures above their table jiggled, the screws loosening a few turns. Now that he knew the truth, he was not at all surprised. Only bitter.

Magda glanced at the wiggling cutlery and her smug expression only deepened. She had seen that look on the face of her former fiancée many times, had witnessed it bring other men and women to heel as they quaked in fear of its sheer ferocity. It would not affect her in the same way. She held the leverage. Her tone returned to the chipper, friendly volume that it had been when first she entered and she gave a smile so genuine and sweet that it would have melted the ice from anyone…save for Erik, of course. " _Wunderbar_! I will pick him up on Saturday morning. Always so _good_ to see you, Erik." She reached for his hand and was not surprised when he flinched from her. Undaunted, she stood and walked out of the cafe without so much as looking back.


	18. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 18

_This is a mistake._

Charles gripped the steering wheel of his Gremlin until his wrists began to ache. Through the perspective of his windscreen was the front of a house. The house belonged to Erik Lehnsherr. He had snooped out the address from Pietro's official paperwork, telling himself that he had _accidentally_ stumbled across it. How easy it was for certain tidbits of information to be exposed with just a little bit of completely professional interest shown in the file of his 'patient,' Pietro Lehnsherr. Since he was a member of staff at Littleleaf, information such as phone numbers and addresses and allergies to food or medication were not barred from Xavier's perusal. He had but to request the personal file of a student and it would be handed over to him without question. Initially, he had asked after Pietro's information with the genuine intent of gaining a better understanding of him for the sake of his therapy. Discovering the location of the home he shared with his father was purely a happy by-product of that research.

It was Saturday, late in the morning. On the passanger seat next to Charles were two items that he intended to deliver: a jacket that he was long overdue returning to Erik, and the latest issue of the comic Scarlet Witch, for Erik's son. It wouldn't be available in shops for another three weeks, but Charles had managed to get his hands on it. His hope was that by giving it to the lad, he might then come off as someone who understood Pietro, and could therefore understand what went on in his head. He wanted to open a rapport with him sans his own telepathic mutation. This felt like a foot in the door as far as accomplishing that.

During his last session with Peitro the previous day, Charles had been shocked to see how eager the boy was to speak with him. The entire session was primarily dominated by talk of Pietro's mother and the plans she had promised to make for them. Such happiness and anticipation had radiated from the child that it triggered a vein of sadness through his guidance counselor, who was aware of certain details relating to the woman and how her presence would cause more pain in the end. All Charles could do was smile and hope that he was wrong about her, and that maybe this time she would not leave behind the same psychological scars that he could sense in Pietro from past visits. The moment that Charles had asked about what things were like at home and how classes were going and virtually _any_ subject that did not involve Magda, Peitro shut him down all over again.

Now here he sat like some crazed stalker. It felt beyond presumptuous. He had spent the whole morning up until this point weighing the pros and cons of coming here and now that he _was_ here, sitting in his car out front of the Lehnsherr's house, all of the positive associations evaporated. He knew that taking the liberty of finding the address and then running with that information was wrong. Being here under any pretense was wrong. He could lose his job. He could be arrested. Erik Lehnsherr could burst through that front door and try to kill him for trespassing and he would be entirely justified in doing so. Charles suspected that his own highly active imagination might have been instilling just a smidgen of paranoia by this point...

The front door did open. Slowly. Erik stood leaning against it, a mug of something warm to drink in his hand. Not a weapon, just coffee or perhaps tea. _Coffee_ , Charles decided without having to use his mutation. This was a coffee-drinking man who stood eyeing the loud green Gremlin in his driveway. Since the German had spotted him and was now looking at him with eyebrows raised and no hint of murderous thoughts, only curiosity, there was nothing else for it; Charles would either have to bite the bullet and reveal how sociopathic he was being today, or he would have to back out and leave and appear even _more_ mentally unbalanced.

"Mister Lehnsherr.." Awkwardly, Charles scrambled his way out of the car. He had his collection of deliveries tucked under one arm and though they should have been quite easy to carry, he found that his fingers were betraying him. He dropped his car keys twice on his way through the extremely simple task of walking from the vehicle toward the porch steps leading to the Lehnsherr house. "Good morning! I... Well, I was in the neighborhood, and you... This is your jacket, I believe. Yes?"

Five excruciatingly long heart beats of time passed while Erik sized up the unexpected visitor stammering on his front lawn. "How did you know where I live?"

"I... Well, the school has it. Your address." Charles winced. He was transforming into a nosy lunatic right before the sharp, pale eyes of this man. Someone as private as Erik Lehnsherr could not possibly be appreciative of having that privacy so blatantly invaded. "This is strange, isn't it?"

"It's a little strange," agreed Lehnsherr mildly.

"Right. Ah... I'll be going, then. Here is your jacket, and I also managed to-"

"Come on in."

Charles was left blinking on the porch as his host disappeared through a doorway that was left open for him. It didn't seem possible. Here he had taken advantage of his position to - albeit inadvertently at first - sniff out delicate intelligence from a personal file of a child student, and yet he was being welcomed. During his journey from his own apartment to this less industrial part of the city, he had hoped for something pleasant such as this to happen but had not completely anticipated it. He decided to take what he was being given at face value and he wiped off his shoes and made his way inside.

One of the arguably less unfortunate stereotypes associated with German people was their fastidiousness. Judging people based on their origins was not a habit that Charles liked to think that he had, seeing as his ability had shown him over the years that all sorts of people were spawned from all sorts of places and no one man or woman was just like another regardless of any conditioning. Yet, when he entered the Lehnsherr home and saw how viciously clean and organized it was, he couldn't prevent his mind from associating it with the man being from Germany. It was very possible that that had something to do with it. Whatever the reasoning was behind Erik's cleanliness, it made the Englishman slightly uneasy; he was hesitant to touch anything lest he contaminate it with his own disorganized personality. He had heard that the predisposition for people to become 'clean-freaks' was due to their inherent need to control every detail about their surroundings. Looking at the museum-like quality of this home gave the impression that its owner craved absolute control. What had happened to Erik to make him this way?

"Coffee?" Erik's floor plan called for an open sitting room that led directly to the dining area, yet his kitchen was closed off almost completely and every other part of the house had a door barring it from where his guest was standing. He looked comfortable in a track suit meant to be worn by a runner. It did not look as though he had taken the run yet, though. Almost as if he had been interrupted in his routine by a mad guidance counselor.

"No thank you, Mister Lehnsherr." Charles smiled.

"What happened to 'Erik?'"

 _Oops_. Charles did not notice until that moment that he had already switched to addressing Lehnsherr by his first name during a past encounter. Now that he was in the man's home, pushing the boundary of what was appropriate even further, he was hiding behind a formality. And Erik was far too astute an individual not to pick up on it. Not sensing any kind of malice radiating off of the taller man, Charles opted to smile as charmingly as he could manage. "I suppose I must apologize for taking liberties with you. It's not very professional of me."

"No. It isn't." Erik stepped closer, his movements measured. It was like watching a jungle cat survey a creature that it was only half interested in making its prey. Similar to the atmosphere of this house, he had every inch of his body under control. Not a twitch of a single muscle was wasted. The sweat-suit he was wearing looked soft in stark contrast to the firmness of the almost lanky physique hidden beneath it. His true figure was revealed only in the way that his pants were cinched around his improbably narrow hips. When he was within a step of Charles he stopped and reached out and for a wild moment, Charles thought that he wanted to hold hands. "My coat?"

"Oh! Of course..." More fumbling of useless fingers ensued as Charles practically threw the garment into Erik's grasp. He had held onto it for what felt like months where it waited for him every day in his car and now that it was returned to its rightful owner, he almost felt regret for giving it up. _What the bloody hell is wrong with me?_ "I had heard that Pietro is a fan of this comic, and I'm afraid that I took yet another liberty. My sister has a friend who was able to obtain the latest issue. Is...Pietro home?"

"He is with his mother." Erik's eyes flashed like twin blades in a cave built of old resentments. It was quick and fierce, and then it was gone. Whatever anger had taken hold of him earlier in the day as he was forced to relinquish his son to the clutches of the boy's mother had been tamed to the point that he could now calmly function. Trying not to 'listen in' on Erik's mind was for Charles like trying to ignore the noiseless yet beautiful dance of the Northern Lights when all one has had to look at their whole life was a bland, polluted sky devoid of grace. Here was a man who could somehow hide what he was feeling and thinking even from himself. It made his mind almost quiet - a favorite corner of a library where a person could sit undisturbed. When there was a spark of thought process, it was hushed. It did not carry the same tedious nuance of the thoughts of other people. It centered around the subject of Erik's current attention, which had zeroed in on Xavier's mouth. The jungle cat wondered what its prey might taste like in this most delectable area.

Charles swallowed. He had heard these desirous echoes through that intriguing mind before. Ignoring it was considerably easier to do when he was in a public park surrounded by other persons on whose less intriguing brains he could focus. Now that he was closed into Erik's territory and they were within arms' reach of one another with no peers nearby to judge them, he was having difficulty steering his own interest away. He was normally far less unnerved than this. In a given situation he could be counted upon to face things clear-headed, undaunted by any kind of influence no matter how alluring or intimidating. There was just something about Erik Lehnsherr that disarmed him. He was never completely certain whether the man hated him or was truly enamored with him, whether he would be accepted or throttled by those powerful-looking hands. Sometimes not even his telepathy could give him any clues, and this was admittedly the most thrilling aspect.

"I see. That's..." Charles had no idea what he was babbling on about anymore. The speech center within his own skull was short-circuiting as he became increasingly aware of the much more arresting psyche of the man in front of him. The 'message' he was helplessly receiving was that if he were to kiss Erik right now, it would be accepted. Erik _wanted_ to kiss him. Neither of them had expected their day to go this way and yet here they were and if it escalated into further intimacy then neither would object to it. Before he could say or do anything that would cause Erik to cut him off the way that both Lehnsherrs had a habit of doing, Charles took the final step that would close the distance between them and he raised up onto his toes and sought out contact between their lips.


	19. Didn't Know I Needed You Chapter 19

The morning had been rife with keen frustration for Erik. The mask that he wore for Pietro as they had prepared for the boy's day out with his mother was one of pained acceptance and forced enthusiasm. It set him on fire to know how helpless he was to prevent Magda from manipulating him into allowing her time with their son, the feeling exacerbated by the knowledge that the only reason she was feigning interest was to secure money from her own father. Once she had shown off sufficiently, Pietro would be left on the curb once again like so much discarded refuse. It would then be up to Erik to scrape together the broken pieces and try to help them return to their former state of, if not pure happiness, at least contentment. With Erik, the child would have security and dependability. With Magda, he would receive only half truths, confusion, pain. These were not things that could be explained in the space of a single morning to an excited child, however, so they were let go in favor of allowing him to enjoy what little interaction he would have with his mother.

From the moment that the house was empty, Erik 's anxiety increased tenfold. Being free of responsibility did not liberate him so much as fill him with concern over that which he held precious. It felt a little like he had willingly turned his son over to a pack of ravenous wolves and now could not even stand by his side and make certain that Pietro was not bitten. He paced and he cleaned and he drank far too much coffee. He worked out a little. He stared at the television without comprehending any of the images that flashed across its screen. He fed the cat. Nothing existed in the house that would adequately pluck his mind from its self-made atmosphere of dark probabilities.

That was, until Charles Xavier kissed him.

The visit was tense yet amusing for Erik up until that strange anomaly. He could see that Xavier was nervous. His fidgety behavior helped to disarm Lehnsherr's own anxiety and cause him to become calm and watchful by contrast. He could appreciate the unique breed of distraction offered by the shorter man's presence and he happily applied it to his list of things that he would rather focus on than the fact that Pietro was gone out with his mother. There existed a very particular type of thickness in the air between Charles and Erik. It didn't take a mind-reader to see that this thickness was conjured from a place of mutual attraction. The more that they looked at one another, the closer that they became, the greater the excitement of the particles that floated invisibly in the space remaining between their fronts. It was a draw. Almost a magnetic pull, positive to negative.

Their chins bumped a moment before their lips touched and that otherworldly energy was flipped into overdrive all at once. Erik remained calmly, pleasantly surprised by a boldness that he would not have anticipated to come from this man - this elementary school teacher who even now was dressed in the fashion of a man who was on his way to a fund raiser in upstate New York. Charles tasted of mint, as though he had planned to kiss Erik all along and had washed out his mouth to ensure that it wasn't the flavor of whatever he had eaten for breakfast that ruined the whole thing and drove the German man away.

The kiss was executed with an enthusiasm at first that bordered on blind desperation, Xavier giving the movements and Erik merely following them, responding to them with curiosity. It occurred to Erik a few seconds later that this was really happening, that he genuinely had his son's guidance counselor standing in his home making every effort to kiss him. And the effort was not wasted, nor could it be described as amateurish. Erik's finely-tuned self control unraveled from the tight spindle around which it was wrapped just enough that his eyes fell closed and those talented, full lips of Charles' were allowed to work their seduction over his own. His senses sharpened, allowing him to smell the soap on Charles' skin and feel the heat of Charles and hear that Charles' heart beat had quickened. Or was it Erik's own blood pumping through his system at an elevated rate. It fueled and stimulated his nerve endings until they were made more sensitive to the featherlightlight, almost chaste contact between himself and his bold guest.

It was the instigator of the kiss who ended it after only a handful of moments given to begin to understand the nature of their attraction for each other. Only a sample, far too small. In Xavier's eyes was a desire that transformed their cerulean depths into twin hurricanes boiling with barely-contained intensity. But he was making an effort to strap his reserve back into place, for whatever reason. He licked his red lips and they stood glistening and beckoning to Erik like two slices of ripe strawberry on an ornate plate. When they moved, it took a moment to realize that they were actually formulating words.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Erik took the next small step forward that invaded personal space and dared the owner of that space to flee. He tossed his coat to the floor as though he had abandoned or no longer cared about his usual near-obsession with tidiness. The incessant order of this house was so often a comfort to him but now...he wanted chaos in which to thrive.

"I could be." An almost coquettish air cocked Charles' head to one side. He was on a swivel that took him between confident flirtation and what must have been a concern that he was going too far. Taking liberties yet again. Risking everything on a whim. A flicker of uncertainty took light in his eyes and burned as he tested the weight of that self-imposed threat and asked, "Should I be?"

"No."

Erik's mind took him to a place devoid of the vehement governance over which he painstakingly executed every detail of his life. The comic book hissed under its plastic covering when he took it from Xavier's grip and tossed it where it was instantly forgotten on top of his similarly discarded coat. He sought the oblivion of a second kiss, pleased when it was accepted with equal vigor. Into it he poured all of his frustrations, his stagnant longing unfurled and melting with the heat of lips that bruised and tongues that caressed. Under his hands he felt warmth and firmness buffered through the unwanted filter of far too many clothes; the dress shirt tucked into khaki pants was buttoned almost to Charles' throat, Erik's imaginings of what Charles' skin might look like or feel like or _taste_ like left unsatisfied by barriers of expensive fabric.

The track suit that the German mutant was wearing did not prevent Charles from tucking his fingers underneath it, their deft movements leaving tracks of fire as they wandered across Erik's hips and his waist and his ribcage. Inch by inch the sweater was being lifted. Suggestions were being made without either man having to break the kiss at first, not until Erik took the hint and paused long enough to pull his shirt up and off of himself. The roaming of blue eyes over his newly bared torso was a tactile thing that he could detect as almost a physical presence on his skin. He was made sensitive to it. No one had been allowed to get this close to touching him for longer than he cared to analyze right at this moment and when Charles did splay his fingers across a pectoral muscle, Erik shivered the slightest bit. He was split between the desire to feel more tentative tickling and the urge to shove Xavier down to the floor for a more immediate solution to his issue of tension.

Xavier looked up at him as though Erik had voiced his need aloud, gaze smoldering with agreement. Somehow he seemed aware of what the taller man was feeling. What he needed. The first kiss had come mere seconds after Erik had thought to himself how enjoyable it would be to do so and now all that was required of him was to imagine Charles' thumb grazing his nipple and here it was. The slightly rough pad of it circled his areola and made the tiny nub hard. Erik sucked in a breath. His vision clouded around the edges and his groin developed a throb that would have been uncomfortable were he not currently dressed in sweat pants.

"Bedroom."

"Ja."

Through thickets of disquiet they half-stumbled from the heart of the house to its master bedroom. They were both giving the sense that time was a limited commodity for them - borrowed time for the wildness of an unexpected yet needed connection. A borrowed world, too, where the social politics that might have encroached upon it and soiled it with complication could not penetrate the bio sphere they were creating. Erik watching his guest lead him through borrowed eyes that chose not to notice how easily Charles found his bedroom with only cursory direction given. He wanted to play a very active role in tearing the cursed clothing from Charles' body, but found himself pushed back on his own bed instead. He sat watching, admiring the view as those buttons were plucked open and the academic younger man slowly became more of a visual feast on which Erik could gorge.

Then he stopped. The uncertainty had made a comeback. It didn't take a genius to see the concerns that were playing out in Xavier's head - for his job, his reputation. How common was it for a teacher to fraternize with the father of a student? Not especially prevalent, judging by the way Xavier stood there as the proverbial deer caught in headlights. Every inch of him radiated the desire to stay, yet he was exhibiting enough professionalism to put up an admirable fight against the temptation. Erik wanted to help him along by using his mutation to remove Charles' belt, wanted to tie him to the headboard with it and prevent him from fighting what they both _needed_.

Erik's physical hand reached out for the silver buckle at the front of Xavier's pants and he pulled. Its soft leather end fell free with barely any effort made. A moment later it was hanging open and the zipper and button beneath it were next to be disengaged. He caught sight of a cream-colored belly that twitched with the electrical impulses of emotion caused by indecision. To help soothe it, Erik stroked Charles below the navel with the backs of his fingers. He looked up just in time to watch that resolve waver.

"Perhaps I should go, before..."

 _Before we make a mistake._

The words hung heavy in the air where they remained unspoken, yet as clear as the daylight trying to peek in around Erik's thick drapes. He liked this room to remain dark. Nothing to interrupt his fractured sleep patterns until he was ready to give up on them. No uninvited influence to remind either of the men that the world beyond these walls was not a forgiving one and that anything they started might very well be irrelevant as soon as it was over. Erik wanted to cast himself into the starry darkness of what Charles had started and find asylum there from his own troubles. He didn't want doubt or worry to ruin it. Therefore, upon hearing that Xavier might well change his mind and elect to flee from his obscurity, Erik's instinctual response was to prevent disappointment by wiping his thoughts clean. Nevertheless, he _was_ disappointed, and it caused him to sag slightly on the bed. If Xavier was determined to cut out the basic enjoyment of it all, then what point was there to it?

"Perhaps you should," Erik challenged.

Charles' eyes were a flash in the pan that burned out his insecurity for just that moment and allowed indignation to seep in. He groaned. "Stop being so bloody agreeable."

"Very well." Erik reached for a wrist and held it in a hard grasp. He reeled Xavier in even closer. The momentum caused by the jerk allowed him to tip their combined weight and fling his 'captive' down onto the bed next to him. A startled noise erupted from Charles that was cut short as Erik climbed on top of him, took hold of both his wrists and pinned them above his brunette head. The new vantage point that was gained afforded Lehnsherr a very nice view of the startled, helpless Englishman. He smiled a slow, broad smile. Nothing was being done to throw him off and Xavier was not struggling with anything approaching a true desire to be free. From above, Charles looked like he was quite excited by the prospect of rough treatment. "You're not going anywhere."

Charles's throat worked around a dry gulp. His eyes were more beautiful now when they were blown wide with unmistakable lust. He was panting quietly and a flush was creeping up from the open collar of his shirt. It left splotches across both cheeks as though he had just come from a lengthy run and was struggling to regain composure. The expression he wore was difficult to read, existing on the spectrum between trepidation and hunger. The words he uttered from lips that glistened transformed the whole image into a wonderful provocation: "Prove it."


End file.
